LANGFORD 
OF  THE  THREE  BARS 


I  TAKE  IT  I  AM  THE  ONE  WANTED,"   SAID  WILLISTOV. 

[Page  103] 


LANGFORD 

OF  THE  THREE   BARS 

BY 
KATE   AND   VIRGIL   D.  BOYLES   ,%^Z. 


With  Illustrations  in  Color 
BY  N.  C.  WYETH 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1907 


- 


COPYRIGHT 

A.  C.  McCi.uRG  &  Co. 
1907 

Published  April  15,  1907 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England 

All  rights  resetted 
Including  dramatic  rights 


THE   UNIVERSITY   PRESS,   CAMBRIDGE,    U.  S.  A. 


flt/s 


TO  OUR  MOTHER 
MRS.  MARTHA   DILLIN   BOYLES 


912783 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  ISLAND  WITH  A  MYSTERY 11 

II.    "ON  THE  TRAIL" 22 

III.  LOUISE 31 

IV.  "  MAGGOT  " 42 

V.    AT  THE  BON  AMI 50 

VI.      "NOTHIN*   BUT    A   HOSS    THIEF,  ANYWAY  ".        .  57 

VII.    THE  PRELIMINARY 62 

VIII.    THE  COUNTY  ATTORNEY 78 

IX.    THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  LAZY  S 90 

X.    IN  WHICH    THE    X  Y  Z  FIGURES  SOMEWHAT 

MYSTERIOUSLY 106 

XI.      "YOU    ARE THE    BOSS  " 121 

XII.    WAITING 137 

XIII.  MRS.   HIGGINS  RALLIES  TO  HER  COLORS    .     .  150 

XIV.  CHANNEL  ICE l6l 

XV.    THE  GAME  is  ON 175 

XVI.    THE  TRIAL 181 

XVII.    GORDON  RIDES  INTO  THE  COUNTRY      .     .     .  194 

XVIII.    FIRE! 203 

XIX.    AN  UNCONVENTIONAL  TEA  PARTY    .     .     .     .  214 

XX.   THE  ESCAPE 224 

XXI.    THE  MOVING  SHADOW 242 

XXII.    THE  OUTLAW'S  LAST  STAND 255 

XXIII.    THE  PARTY  AT  THE  LAZY  S  271 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 
"  I    TAKE    IT    I    AM    THE    ONE    WANTED,"    SAID 

WILLISTON Frontispiece 

THE  GLOWING  IRON  STICK  IN  HIS  HAND,  JESSE 
TURNED  AND  FACED  SQUARELY  THE  SPOT 
WHICH  HELD  THE  WATCHING  MAN  .  .  .  .  18 

LOUISE  LOVED  TO  CLIMB  TO  THE  SUMMIT  OF 
ONE  OF  THE  BARREN  HILLS  FLANKING  THE 
RIVER,  AND  STAND  THERE  WHILE  THE 
WIND  BLEW 146 

THE  LITTLE  POSSE  STARTED  OUT  ON  ITS  JOUR 
NEY,  THE  WIRY  MARSHAL  FIRST  ....  258 


LANGFORD 

OF   THE   THREE   BARS 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  ISLAND  WITH  A  MYSTERY 

HE  said  positively  to  Bfele  'Ax,  his  scraggy 
buckskin  cow  pony,  that  they  -would  rxck*  to 
the  summit  of  this  one  bluff,  and  that  it  should 
be  the  last.  But  he  had  said  the  same  thing  many 
times  since  striking  the  barren  hill  region  flanking  both 
sides  of  the  river.  Hump  after  hump  had  been  sur 
mounted  since  the  sound  of  the  first  promise  had  tickled 
the  ears  of  the  tired  bronco,  humps  as  alike  as  the  two 
humps  of  a  Bactrian  camel,  the  monotonous  continuity 
of  which  might  very  well  have  confused  the  mind  of 
one  less  at  home  on  these  ranges  than  George  Williston. 
Even  he,  riding  a  blind  trail  since  sun-up,  sitting  his 
saddle  with  a  heavy  indifference  born  of  heat  and  fatigue, 
began  to  think  it  might  be  that  they  were  describing 
a  circle  and  the  sun  was  playing  them  strange  tricks. 
Still,  he  urged  his  pony  to  one  more  effort;  just  so 
much  farther  and  they  would  retrace  their  steps,  giving 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

up  for  this  day  at  least  the  locating  of  a  small  bunch 
of  cattle,  branded  a  lazy  S,  missing  these  three  days. 

Had  not  untoward  circumstances  intervened,  he  might 
still  have  gone  blindly  on  ;  for,  laying  aside  the  gam 
bling  fever  that  was  on  him,  he  could  ill  afford  to  lose 
the  ten  or  twelve  steers  somewhere  wandering  the  wide 
range  or  huddled  into  some  safe  place,  there  to  abide 
the  time  when  a  daring  rustler  might  conveniently 
play  at  witchcraft  with  the  brand  or  otherwise  dispose 
of  them  with  profit  to  himself  and  with  credit  to  his 
craft.  Moreover,  what  might  possibly  never  have  been 
missed  from  tK<?  vdsl*  herds  of  Langford,  his  neighbor 
of /the1  plains  'country,  was  of  most  serious  import  to 
Williston  for  an  even  weightier  reason  than  the  actual 
present  loss. 

The  existence  of  the  small  and  independent  ranch 
man  was  becoming  precarious.  He  was  being  hounded 
by  two  prolific  sources  of  trouble,  these  sources  having 
a  power  and  insolent  strength  contemptuously  indiffer 
ent  to  any  claim  set  up  in  their  paths  by  one  weaker 
than  themselves.  On  the  one  hand  was  the  wealthy 
cattle  owner,  whose  ever-increasing  wealth  and  conse 
quent  power  was  a  growing  menace  to  the  interests  of 
the  small  owner  whose  very  bread  and  butter  depended 
upon  his  ability  to  buy  and  sell  to  advantage.  But 
with  bigger  interests  slowly  but  surely  gaining  control 
of  the  markets,  who  might  foretell  the  future  ?  None 
beheld  the  ominous  signs  more  apprehensively  than  did 

[18] 


The  Island  with  a  Mystery 

Williston,  who  for  more  than  two  years,  striving  des 
perately  to  make  good  mistakes  and  misfortunes  made 
back  in  Iowa,  had  felt  the  pinching  grow  more  and  more 
acute.  On  the  other  hand  was  the  vicious  combination 
of  the  boldness,  cunning,  and  greed  of  the  cattle  rust 
lers  who  harassed  all  the  range  country  of  the  Dakotas 
and  Nebraska.  Annihilation  was  the  sword  of  Damo 
cles  held  over  the  head  of  the  small  ranchman.  A  hand 
lifted  to  avert  impending  doom  would  have  set  the  air 
in  vibration  and  the  sword  would  have  fallen.  Nemesis 
was  as  sure  to  follow  at  the  hands  of  the  fellowship  of 
rustlers  as  ever  it  was  at  the  hands  of  the  Secret  Tri 
bunal  of  old. 

Williston  was  chafing  under  his  helplessness  as  the 
jaded  pony  climbed  doggedly  this  last  bluff.  To  the 
right  of  his  path  a  hawk  was  fluttering  frantically  just 
above  the  reach  of  a  basilisk-eyed  rattlesnake,  whose 
baneful  charm  the  ill-advised  bird  was  not  able  to 
resist. 

"  Devil  take  you,  Battle  Ax,  but  you  Ye  slow,"  mut 
tered  Williston,  utterly  indifferent  to  the  outcome  of 
this  battle  royal.  "  I  "d  give  a  good  deal  to  sit  down 
this  minute  to  some  of  my  little  girl's  flapjacks  and 
coffee.  But  nothing  for  us,  lazy-bones,  till  midnight  — 
or  morning,  more  likely.  Do  walk  up  as  if  you  had 
some  little  standing  in  the  world  of  cow  ponies.  You 
have  n't,  of  a  surety,  but  you  might  make  an  effort.  All 
things  are  possible  to  him  who  tries,  you  know,  which  is 

[13] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

a  tremendous  lie,  of  course.  But  perhaps  it  does  n't 
apply  to  poor  devils  like  us  who  are  '  has  beens.** 
Here  we  are.  Ah  !  " 

There  were  no  more  hills.  Almost  directly  at  his 
feet  was  one  of  those  precipitous  cut-aways  that  charac 
terize  the  border  bluffs  of  the  Missouri  River.  A  few 
more  steps,  in  the  dark,  and  horse  and  rider  would 
have  plunged  over  a  sheer  wall  of  nearly  two  hundred 
feet.  As  it  was,  Williston  gave  a  gasp  of  involuntary 
horror  which  almost  simultaneously  gave  place  to  one 
of  wonder  and  astonishment.  He  had  struck  the  river 
at  a  point  absolutely  new  to  him.  It  was  the  time  of 
low  water,  and  the  river,  in  most  of  its  phases  muddy 
and  sullen-looking,  gleamed  silver  and  gold  with  the 
glitter  of  the  setting  sun,  making  a  royal  highway  to 
the  dwelling-place  of  Phoebus.  A  little  to  the  north  of 
this  sparkling  highroad  lay  what  would  have  been  an 
island  in  high  water,  thickly  wooded  with  willows  and 
cotton  woods.  Now  a  long  stretch  of  sand  reached 
between  bluff  and  island. 

Dismounting,  with  the  quick  thought  that  yonder 
island  might  hold  the  secret  of  his  lost  cattle,  he  crept 
as  close  to  the  edge  as  he  dared.  The  cut  was  sheer 
and  tawny,  entirely  devoid  of  shrubbery  by  means  of 
which  one  might  hazard  a  descent.  The  sand  bed  be 
gan  immediately  at  the  foot  of  the  yellow  wall.  Even 
though  one  managed  to  gain  the  bottom,  one  would 
hardly  dare  risk  the  deceitful  sands,  ever  shifting,  fair 


The  Island  with  a  Mystery 

and  treacherous.  Baffled,  he  was  on  the  point  of  re 
mounting  to  retrace  his  steps  when  he  dropped  his  foot 
from  the  stirrup  amazed.  Was  the  day  of  miracles 
not  yet  passed  ? 

It  was  the  sun,  of  course.  Twelve  hours  of  sun  in  the 
eyes  could  play  strange  tricks  and  might  even  cause  a 
dancing  black  speck  to  assume  the  semblance  of  a  man 
on  horseback,  picking  his  way  easily,  though  mayhap  a 
bit  warily,  across  the  waste  of  sand.  He  seemed  to 
have  sprung  from  the  very  bowels  of  the  bluff.  Whence 
else  ?  Many  a  rod  beyond  and  above  the  ghostly  figure 
frowned  the  tawny,  wicked  cut-away.  Path  for  neither 
horse  nor  man  appeared  so  far  as  eye  could  reach.  It 
must  be  the  sun.  But  it  was  not  the  sun. 

Motionless,  intent,  a  figure  cast  in  bronze  as  the  sun 
went  down,  the  lean  ranchman  gazed  steadfastly  down 
upon  the  miniature  man  and  horse  creeping  along  so 
far  below.  Not  until  the  object  of  his  fixed  gaze  had 
been  swallowed  by  the  trees  and  underbrush  did  his 
muscles  relax.  This  man  had  ridden  as  if  unafraid. 

"What  man  has  done,  man  can  do,"  ran  swiftly 
through  Williston's  brain,  and  with  no  idea  of  aban 
doning  his  search  until  he  had  probed  the  mystery, 
he  mounted  and  rode  northward,  closely  examining 
the  edge  of  the  precipice  as  he  went  along  for  any  evi 
dence  of  a  possible  descent.  Presently  he  came  upon  a 
cross  ravine,  devoid  of  shrubbery,  too  steep  for  a  horse, 
but  presenting  possibilities  for  a  man.  With  unerring 

[15] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

instinct  he  followed  the  cross-cut  westward.  Soon  a 
scattering  of  scrub  oaks  began  to  appear,  and  sumach 
already  streaked  with  crimson.  A  little  farther  and 
the  trees  began  to  show  spiral  wreaths  of  woodbine  and 
wild  grape.  Yet  a  little  farther,  and  doubtless  there 
would  be  outlet  for  horse  as  well  as  man. 

But  Williston  was  growing  impatient.  Besides,  the 
thought  came  to  him  that  he  had  best  not  risk 
his  buckskin  to  the  unknown  dangers  of  an  untried 
trail.  What  if  he  should  go  lame  ?  Accordingly  he 
was  left  behind  in  a  slight  depression  where  he  would 
be  pretty  well  hidden,  and  Williston  scrambled  down 
the  steep  incline  alone.  When  foothold  or  handhold 
was  lacking,  he  simply  let  himself  go  and  slid,  grasping 
the  first  root  or  branch  that  presented  itself  in  his 
dare-devil  course. 

Arrived  at  the  bottom,  he  found  his  clothes  torn  and 
his  hands  bleeding ;  but  that  was  nothing.  With  grim 
determination  he  made  his  way  through  the  ravine  and 
struck  across  the  sand  trail  with  a  sure  realization  of  his 
danger,  but  without  the  least  abatement  of  his  resolu 
tion.  The  sand  was  firm  under  his  feet.  The  water 
had  receded  a  sufficient  length  of  time  before  to  make 
the  thought  of  quicksands  an  idle  fear.  No  puff  of 
cloudy  smoke  leaped  from  a  rifle  barrel.  If,  as  he  more 
than  half  suspected,  the  island  was  a  rendezvous  for 
cattle  thieves,  a  place  surely  admirably  fitted  by  nature 
for  such  unlawful  operations,  the  rustlers  were  either 

[16] 


The  Island  with  a  Mystery 

overconfident  of  the  inaccessibility  of  their  retreat  and 
kept  no  lookout,  or  they  were  insolently  indifferent  to 
exposure.  The  former  premise  was  the  more  likely. 
A  light  breeze,  born  of  the  afterglow,  came  scurrying 
down  the  river  bed.  Here  and  there,  where  the  sand 
was  finest  and  driest,  it  rose  in  little  whirlwinds.  No 
sound  broke  the  stillness  of  the  summer  evening. 

What  was  that  ?  Coyotes  barking  over  yonder  across 
the  river  ?  That  alien  sound  !  A  man's  laugh,  a  curse, 
a  heart-breaking  bellow  of  pain.  Williston  parted  ever 
so  slightly  the  thick  foliage  of  underbrush  that  sepa 
rated  him  from  the  all  too  familiar  sounds  and  peered 
within. 

In  the  midst  of  a  small  clearing, —  man-made,  for 
several  stumps  were  scattered  here  and  there, —  two 
men  were  engaged  in  unroping  and  releasing  a  red 
steer,  similar  in  all  essential  respects  to  a  bunch  of 
three  or  four  huddled  together  a  little  to  one  side. 
They  were  all  choice,  well-fed  animals,  but  there  were 
thousands  of  just  such  beasts  herding  on  the  free  ranges. 
He  owned  red  steers  like  those,  but  was  there  a  man  in 
the  cattle  country  who  did  not  ?  They  were  impossible 
of  identification  without  the  aid  of  their  brand,  and  it 
happened  that  they  were  so  bunched  as  to  completely 
baffle  Williston  in  his  eager  efforts  to  decipher  the 
stamp  that  would  disclose  their  ownership.  That  they 
were  the  illegitimate  prey  of  cattle  rustlers,  he  never 
for  one  moment  doubted.  The  situation  was  conclusive. 
2  [17] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

A  bed  of  glowing  embers  constantly  replenished  and 
kept  at  white  heat  served  to  lighten  up  the  weird  scene 
growing  dusky  under  the  surrounding  cottonwoods. 

Williston  thought  he  recognized  in  one  of  the  men 
—  the  one  who  seemed  to  be  directing  the  procedure  oj 
this  little  affair,  whose  wide  and  dirty  hat-rim  was  sc 
tantalizingly  drawn  over  his  eyes  —  the  solitary  ridei 
whose  unexpected  appearance  had  so  startled  him  B 
short  time  before.  Both  he  and  his  companion  were 
dressed  after  the  rough,  nondescript  manner  of  cattle 
men,  both  were  gay,  laughing  and  talkative,  and  seem 
ingly  as  oblivious  to  possible  danger  as  if  engaged  ir 
the  most  innocent  and  legitimate  business. 

A  little  to  the  left  and  standing  alone  was  an  odd 
creature  of  most  striking  appearance  —  a  large,  spotted 
steer  with  long,  peculiar-looking  horns.  It  were  quite 
impossible  to  mistake  such  a  possession  if  it  had  once 
been  yours.  Its  right  side  was  turned  full  toward 
Williston  and  in  the  centre  of  the  hip  stood  out  dis 
tinctly  the  cleanly  cauterized  three  perpendicular  line.s 
that  were  the  identifying  mark  of  the  Three  Bars  ranch, 
one  of  those  same  big,  opulent,  self-centred  outfit* 
whose  astonishingly  multiplying  sign  was  becoming 
such  a  veritable  and  prophetic  writing  on  the  walJ 
for  Williston  and  his  kind. 

Who  then  had  dared  to  drive  before  him  an  animal 
so  branded?  The  boldness  of  the  transgression  and 
the  insolent  indifference  to  the  enormity  of  attendant 
[18] 


The  Island  with  a  Mystery 

consequences  held  him  for  the  moment  breathless.  His 
attention  was  once  more  called  to  the  movements  of 
the  men.  The  steer  with  which  they  had  been  working 
was  led  away  still  moaning  with  surprise  and  pain,  and 
another  brought  forward  from  the  reserve  bunch.  The 
branded  hip,  if  there  was  a  brand,  was  turned  away 
from  Williston.  The  bewildered  animal  was  cleverly 
roped  and  thrown  to  the  ground.  The  man  who  was 
plainly  directing  the  affair,  he  of  the  drooping  hat  and 
lazy  shoulders,  stepped  to  the  fire.  Williston  held  his 
breath  with  the  intensity  of  his  interest.  The  man 
stooped  and  took  an  iron  from  the  fire.  It  was  the  end- 
gate  rod  of  a  wagon  and  it  was  red-hot.  In  the  act  of 
straightening  himself  from  his  stooping  position,  the 
glowing  iron  stick  in  his  right  hand,  he  flung  from  his 
head  with  an  easy  swing  the  flopping  hat  that  inter 
fered  with  the  nicety  of  sight  requisite  in  the  work 
he  was  about  to  do,  and  faced  squarely  that  quiet, 
innocent-looking  spot  which  held  the  watching  man  in 
its  brush ;  and  in  the  moment  in  which  Williston  drew 
hastily  back,  the  fear  of  discovery  beating  a  tattoo  of 
cold  chills  down  his  spine,  recognition  of  the  man  came 
to  him  in  a  clarifying  burst  of  comprehension. 

But  the  man  evidently  saw  nothing  and  suspected 
nothing.  His  casual  glance  was  probably  only  a  mani 
festation  of  his  habitual  attitude  of  being  never  off  his 
guard.  He  approached  the  prostrate  steer  with  indif 
ference  to  any  meaning  that  might  be  attached  to  the 

[19] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

soft  snapping  of  twigs  caused  by  Williston's  involun 
tary  drawing  back  into  the  denser  shadows. 

"  Y '  don't  suppose  now,  do  you,  that  any  blamec 
interferin'  ofTcer  is  a-loafin1  round  where  he  ought  n 
to  be  ?  "  said  the  second  man  with  a  laugh. 

Williston,  much  relieved,  again  peered  cautiousl 
through  the  brush.  He  was  confident  a  brand  wa 
about  to  be  worked  over.  He  must  see  —  what  ther 
was  to  see. 

"  Easy  now,  boss,"  said  the  second  man  with  an  offi 
cious  warning.  He  was  a  big,  beefy  fellow  with  a  heavj 
hardened  face.  Williston  sounded  the  depths  of  hi 
memory  but  failed  to  place  him  among  his  acquainl 
ances  in  the  cow  country. 

"  Gamble  on    me,"  returned  the  leader  with  read 
good-nature,  "  I  '11  make  it  as  clean  as  a  boiled  shirt, 
take  it  you  don't  know  my  reputation,  pard.     Wei 
you  '11   learn.      You  're  all  right,  only  a  trifle  greer 
that's  all." 

With  a  firm,  quick  hand,  he  began  running  th 
searing  iron  over  the  right  hip  of  the  animal.  Whe 
he  had  finished  and  the  steer,  released,  staggered  to  i1 
feet,  Williston  saw  the  brand  clearly.  It  was  J  R.  1 
it  had  been  worked  over  another  brand,  it  certainly  wa 
a  clean  job.  He  could  see  no  indications  of  any  ol 
markings  whatsoever. 

"  Too  clean  to  be  worked  over  a  lazy  S,"  though 
Williston,  "  but  not  over  three  bars." 
[20] 


The  Island  with  a  Mystery 

"  There  were  six  reds,"  said  the  chief,  surveying  the 
remaining  bunch  with  a  critical  eye.  "  One  must  have 
wandered  off  while  I  was  gone.  Get  out  there  in  the 
brush  and  round  him  up,  Alec,  while  I  tackle  this 
long-horned  gentleman." 

Williston  turned  noiselessly  away  from  the  scene 
which  so  suddenly  threatened  danger.  Both  men  were 
fully  armed  and  would  brook  no  eavesdropping.  Once 
more  he  crossed  the  sand  in  safety  and  found  his  horse 
where  he  had  left  him,  up  the  ravine.  He  vaulted  into 
the  saddle  and  galloped  away  into  the  qui^t  night. 


[21] 


CHAPTER   II 

"ON  THE  TRAIL" 

WLLISTON  himself  came  to  the  door.  His 
thin,  scholarly  face  looked  drawn  and  worn 
in  the  mid-day  glare.  A  tiredness  in  the 
eyes  told  graphically  of  a  sleepless  night. 

"  I  ""in  glad  to  see  you,  Langford,"  he  said.  "  It  was 
good  of  you  to  come.  Leave  your  horse  for  Mary. 
She  '11  give  her  water  when  she 's  cooled  off  a  bit." 

"  You  sent  for  me,  Williston  ? "  asked  the  young 
man,  rubbing  his  face  affectionately  against  the  wet 
neck  of  his  mare. 

"  I  did.     It  was  good  of  you  to  come  so  soon." 

"  Fortunately,  your  messenger  found  me  at  home. 
As  for  the  rest,  Sade,  here,  has  n't  her  beat  in  the  cow 
country,  if  she  is  only  a  cow  pony,  eh,  Sadie  ?  " 

At  that  moment,  Mary  Williston  came  into  the  open 
doorway  of  the  rude  claim  shanty  set  down  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  sun-seared  plain  which  stretched  away  into 
heart-choking  distances  from  every  possible  point  of 
the  compass.  And  sweet  she  was  to  look  upon,  though 
tanned  and  glowing  from  close  association  with  the 
ardent  sun  and  riotous  wind.  Her  auburn  hair,  more 
reddish  on  the  edges  from  sunburn,  was  fine  and  soft 

[22] 


;' On  the  Trail" 

and  there  was  much  of  it.  It  seemed  newly  brushed 
and  suspiciously  glossy.  One  sees  far  on  the  plains,  and 
two  years  out  of  civilization  are  not  enough  to  make  a 
girl  forget  the  use  of  a  mirror,  even  if  it  be  but  a 
broken  sliver,  propped  up  on  a  pine-board  dressing 
table.  She  looked  strangely  grown-up  despite  her 
short,  rough  skirt  and  badly  scuffed  leather  riding- 
leggings.  Langford  stared  at  her  with  a  startled  look 
of  mingled  admiration  and  astonishment.  v  She  came 
forward  and  put  her  hand  on  the  mare's  bridle.  She 
was  not  embarrassed  in  the  least.  But  color  came  into 
the  stranger's  face.  He  swept  his  wide  hat  from  his 
head  quickly. 

"  No  indeed,  Miss  Williston ;  I  '11  water  Sade  my 
self." 

"  Please  let  me.     I  'd  love  to.1' 

"  She 's  used  to  it,  Langford,"  said  Williston  in  his 
quiet,  gentlemanly  voice,  the  well-bred  cadence  of 
which  spoke  of  a  training  far  removed  from  the  harass- 
ments  and  harshnesses  of  life  in  this  plains  country. 
"  You  see,  she  is  the  only  boy  I  have.  She  must  of 
necessity  be  my  chore  boy  as  well  as  my  herd  boy.  In 
her  leisure  moments  she  holds  down  her  kitchen  claim ; 
I  don't  know  how  she  does  it,  but  she  does.  You  had 
better  let  her  do  it ;  she  will  hold  it  against  you  if  you 
don't." 

"  But  I  could  n't  have  a  woman  doing  my  grooming 
for  me.  Why,  the  very  idea  !  " 

[23] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

He  sprang  into  the  saddle. 

"  But  you  waited  for  me  to  do  it,"  said  the  girl,  look 
ing  up  at  him  curiously. 

"  Did  I  ?  I  did  n't  mean  to.  Yes,  I  did,  too.  But 
I  beg  your  pardon.  You  see  —  say,  look  here  ;  are  you 
the  '  little  girl '  who  left  word  for  me  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,"  smiling,  but  apologetic,  "  one  of  the 
boys  said  that  Williston's  little  girl  had  ridden  over 
and  said  her  father  wanted  to  see  me  as  soon  as  I  could 
come.  So,  you  see,  I  thought  —  " 

"  Dad  always  calls  me  that,  so  most  of  the  people 
around  here  do,  too.  It  is  very  silly."" 

"  I  don't  think  so  at  all.  I  only  wonder  why  I  have 
not  known  about  you  before,"  with  a  frank  smile.  "  It 
must  be  because  I  Ve  been  away  so  much  of  the  time 
lately.  Why  did  n't  you  wait  for  me  ?  "  he  asked  sud 
denly.  "  Ten  miles  is  a  sort  of  a  lonesome  run  —  for  a 
girl." 

"  I  did  wait  a  while,"  said  Mary,  honestly,  "  but  you 
didn't  seem  in  any  hurry.  I  expect  you  didn't  care 
to  be  bored  that  long  way  with  the  silly  chatter  of  a 
4  little  girl.'" 

"  Well,"  said  Langford,  ruefully,  « I  'm  afraid  I  did 
feel  a  little  relieved  when  I  found  you  had  not  waited. 
I  never  will  again.  I  do  beg  your  pardon,"  he  called, 
laughingly,  over  his  shoulder  as  he  galloped  away  to 
the  spring. 

[24] 


"On  the  Trail" 

When  he  returned  there  was  no  one  to  receive  him 
but  Williston.  Together  they  entered  the  house.  It 
was  a  small  room  into  which  Langford  was  ushered.  It 
was  also  very  plain.  It  was  more  than  that,  it  was 
shabby.  An  easy-chair  or  two  that  had  survived  the 
wreckage  of  the  house  of  Williston  had  been  shipped 
to  this  "  land  of  promise,"  together  with  a  few  other  ar 
ticles  such  as  were  absolutely  indispensable.  The  table 
was  a  big  shipping  box,  though  Langford  did  not  no 
tice  that,  for  it  was  neatly  covered  with  a  moth-eaten, 
plum-colored  felt  cloth.  A  rug,  crocheted  out  of  parti 
colored  rags,  a  relic  of  Mary's  conservative  and  thrifty 
grandmother,  served  as  a  carpet  for  the  living-room.  A 
peep  through  the  open  door  into  the  next  and  only 
other  room  disclosed  glimpses  of  matting  on  the  floor. 
There  was  a  holy  place  even  in  this  castaway  house 
on  the  prairie.  As  the  young  man's  careless  eyes  took 
in  this  new  significance,  the  door  closed  softly.  The 
"  little  girl  "  had  shut  herself  in. 

The  two  men  sat  down  at  the  table.  It  was  hot. 
They  were  perspiring  freely.  The  flies,  swarming 
through  the  screenless  doorway,  stung  disagreeably. 

Laconically  Williston  told  his  story.  He  wasted  no 
words  in  the  telling.  In  the  presence  of  the  man 
whose  big  success  made  his  own  pitiful  failures  incon 
gruous,  his  sensitive  scholar's  nature  had  shut  up  like 
a  clam. 

Langford's  jaw  was  set.  His  young  face  was  tense 
[25] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

with  interest.  He  had  thrown  his  hat  on  the  floor  as 
he  came  in,  as  is  the  way  with  men  who  have  lived  much 
without  women.  He  had  a  strong,  bronzed  face,  with 
dare-devil  eyes,  blue  they  were,  too,  and  he  had  a  cer 
tain  turn  of  the  head,  a  mark  of  distinction  which  suc 
cess  always  gives  to  her  sons.  He  had  big  shoulders, 
clad  in  a  blue  flannel  shirt  open  at  the  throat.  In  his 
absorption  he  had  forgotten  the  "  little  girl "  as  com 
pletely  as  if  she  had,  in  very  truth,  been  the  ten-year-old 
of  his  imagination.  How  plainly  he  could  see  all  the 
unholy  situation,  —  the  handful  of  desperate  men  per 
fectly  protected  on  the  little  island.  One  man  sighting 
from  behind  a  cottonwood  could  play  havoc  with  a 
whole  sheriff's  posse  on  that  open  stretch  of  sand-bar. 
Nothing  but  a  surprise  —  and  did  these  insolent  men 
fear  surprise  ?  They  had  laughed  at  the  suggestion  of 
the  near  presence  of  an  officer  of  the  law.  And  did 
they  not  do  well  to  laugh  ?  Surely  it  was  a  joke,  a 
good  one,  this  idea  of  an  officer's  being  where  he  was 
needed  in  Kemah  County. 

"  And  my  brand  was  on  that  spotted  steer,"  he  inter 
rupted.  "  I  know  the  creature  —  know  him  well.  He 
has  a  mean  eye.  Had  the  gall  to  dispute  the  right  of 
way  with  me  once,  not  so  long  ago,  either.  He  was  in 
the  corral  at  the  time,  but  he's  been  on  the  range  all 
Summer.  He  may  have  the  evil  eye  all  right,  but  he 's 
mine,  bad  eye  and  all ;  and  what  is  mine,  I  will  have. 
And  is  that  the  only  original  brand  you  saw?" 
[26] 


"On  the  Trail' 

"  The  only  one,"  quietly,  "  unless  the  J  R  on  that  red 
steer  when  he  got  up  was  an  original  one." 

"JR?     Who  could  JR  be?" 

"  I  could  n't  say,  but  the  man  was  —  Jesse  Black." 

"  Jesse  Black  !  " 

The  repeated  words  were  fairly  spit  out. 

"Jesse  Black!  I  might  have  known.  Who  else 
bold  enough  to  loot  the  Three  Bars  ?  But  his  day  has 
come.  Not  a  hair,  nor  a  hide,  not  a  hoof,  not  tallow 
enough  to  fry  a  flapjack  shall  be  left  on  the  Three  Bars 
before  he  repents  his  insolence." 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  "  asked  Willis  ton. 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  "  retorted  Langford. 

"  I  ?  What  can  I  do  ? "  in  the  vague,  helpless  tone 
of  the  dreamer. 

"  Everything  —  if  you  will,"  briefly. 

He  snatched  up  his  wide  hat. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  Williston,  curiously. 

"To  see  Dick  Gordon  before  this  day  is  an  hour 
older.  Will  you  come  along  ?  " 

"  Ye — es,"  hesitatingly.  "  Gordon  has  n't  made 
much  success  of  things  so  far,  has  he  ?  " 

"  Because  you  —  and  men  like  you  —  are  under  the 
thumb  of  men  like  Jesse  Black,"  said  Langford,  curtly. 
"Afraid  to  peach  for  fear  of  antagonizing  the  gang. 
Afraid  to  vote  against  the  tools  of  the  cattle  thieves  for 
fear  of  antagonizing  the  gang.  Afraid  to  call  your 
souls  your  own  for  fear  of  antagonizing  the  gang. 

[27J 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Your  6  on  the  fence '  policy  did  n't  work  very  well  this 
time,  did  it?  You  haven't  found  your  cattle,  have 
you  ?  The  angel  must  have  forgotten.  Thought  you 
were  tainted  of  Egypt,  eh?" 

"  It  is  easy  for  you  to  talk,'1  said  Williston,  simply. 
"  It  would  be  different  if  your  bread  and  butter  and 
your  little  girl's  as  well  depended  on  a  scrawny  little 
bunch  like  mine." 

"  Maybe,"  said  Langford,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
"  Does  n't  seem  to  have  exempted  you,  though,  does  it  ? 
But  Black  is  no  respecter  of  persons,  you  know.  How 
ever,  the  time  has  come  for  Dick  Gordon  to  show  of 
what  stuff  he  is  made.  It  was  for  this  that  I  worked 
for  his  election,  though  I  confess  I  little  thought  at  the 
time  that  proofs  for  him  would  be  furnished  from  my 
own  herds.  Present  conditions  humiliate  me  utterly. 
Am  I  a  weakling  that  they  should  exist  ?  Are  we  all 
weaklings  ?  " 

A  faint,  appreciative  smile  passed  over  Williston's 
face.  No,  Langford  did  not  look  a  weakling,  neither 
had  the  professed  humiliation  lowered  his  proud  head. 
Here  was  a  man  —  a  godlike  type,  with  his  sunny  hair 
and  his  great  strength.  This  was  the  man  who  had 
thrown  not  only  the  whole  weight  of  his  personal  influ 
ence,  which  was  much,  but  his  whole-hearted  and  ag 
gressive  service  as  well,  into  the  long  and  bitter 
campaign  for  county  sovereignty,  and  had  thus  turned 
the  scale  in  favor  of  the  scarcely  hoped-for  victory  over 
[28] 


' On  the  Trail' 

the  puppet  of  the  cattle  rustlers.  Williston  knew  his 
great  object  had  been  to  rid  the  county  of  its  brigands. 
True  it  was  that  this  big,  ruddy,  self-confident  ranch 
man  was  no  weakling. 

Langford  strode  to  the  door.  Then  he  turned 
quicSly. 

"  Look  here,  Williston,  I  shall  make  you  angry,  I 
suppose,  but  it  has  to  go  in  the  cattle  country,  and  you 
little  fellows  have  n't  shown  up  very  white  in  these 
deals ;  you  know  that  yourself." 

"Well?" 

"  Are  you  going  to  stand  pat  with  us  ? " 

"  If  you  mean,  am  I  going  to  tell  what  I  know  when 
called  upon,"  answered  Williston,  with  a  simple  dignity 
that  made  Langford  color  with  sudden  shame,  "  I  am. 
There  are  many  of  us  *  little  fellows '  who  would  have 
been  glad  to  stand  up  against  the  rustling  outrage  long 
ago  had  we  received  any  backing.  The  moral  support 
of  men  of  your  class  has  not  been  what  you  might  call 
a  sort  of <  on  the  spot '  support,  now,  has  it  ?  "  relapsing 
into  a  gentle  sarcasm.  "  At  least,  until  you  came  to  the 
front,"  he  qualified. 

"  You  will  not  be  the  loser,  and  there 's  my  hand  on 
it,"  said  Langford,  frankly  and  earnestly,  ignoring  the 
latter  part  of  the  speech.  "  The  Three  Bars  never  for 
gets  a  friend.  They  may  do  you  before  we  are  through 
with  them,  Williston,  but  remember,  the  Three  Bars 
never  forgets." 

[29] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Braggadocio  ?  Maybe.  But  there  was  strength  back 
of  it,  there  was  determination  back  of  it,  and  there  was 
an  abiding  faith  in  the  power  of  the  Three  Bars  to  make 
things  happen,  and  a  big  wrath  destined  to  sleep  not 
nor  slumber  till  some  things  had  happened  in  the  cattle 
country. 

Mary  Williston,  from  her  window,  as  is  the  way  with 
a  maid,  watched  the  two  horsemen  for  many  a  mile  as 
they  galloped  away.  She  followed  them  with  her  eyes 
while  they  slowly  became  faint,  moving  specks  in  the 
level  distance  and  until  they  were  altogether  blotted 
out,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  living  thing  on  the  plain 
that  stretched  between.  But  Paul  Langford,  as  is  the 
way  with  a  man,  forgot  that  he  had  seen  a  beautiful 
girl  arid  had  thrilled  to  her  glance.  He  looked  back 
not  once  as  he  urged  his  trusty  little  mare  on  to  see 
Dick  Gordon. 


[30] 


CHAPTER   III 

LOUISE 

IT  was  raining  when  she   left  Wind  City,  but  the 
rain  had  soon  been  distanced.     Perhaps  the  Judge 
was  right  when  he  said  it  never  rained  north  or 
west  of  Wind  City.     But  the  Judge  had  not  wanted 
her  to  go.     Neither  had  the  Judge's  wife. 

Full  twenty  minutes,  only  day  before  yesterday,  the 
Judge  had  delayed  his  day's  outing  at  the  mill  where 
the  Jim  River  doubles  right  around  on  its  tracks,  in 
order  to  make  it  perfectly  clear  to  her  that  it  was 
absolutely  outside  of  the  bounds  of  her  duty,  that  it 
was  altogether  an  affair  on  the  side,  that  she  could  not 
be  expected  to  go,  and  that  the  prosecuting  attorney 
up  there  had  merely  asked  her  out  of  courtesy,  in  def 
erence  to  her  position.  Of  course  he  would  be  glad 
enough  to  get  her,  but  let  him  get  some  one  nearer 
home,  or  do  without.  It  was  n't  at  all  necessary  for  the 
court  reporter  to  hold  herself  in  readiness  to  answer  the 
call  of  anything  outside  her  prescribed  circuit  duties. 
To  be  sure  she  would  earn  a  trifle,  but  it  was  a  hard 
trip,  a  hard  country,  and  she  had  much  better  postpone 
her  initial  journey  into  the  unknown  until  the  regular 
term  of  court,  when  he  could  be  with  her.  He  had  then 

[811 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

thrown  his  minnow  seine  over  his  shoulders,  taken  his 
minnow  pail  in  one  hand  and  his  reel  case  and  lunch 
box  in  the  other,  and  walked  out  to  the  road  wagon 
awaiting  him  at  the  gate,  and  so  off  to  his  frolic,  leaving 
her  to  fight  it  out  for  herself. 

The  Judge's  wife  had  not  been  so  diplomatic,  not  by 
any  means.  She  had  dwelt  long  and  earnestly,  and  no 
doubt  to  a  large  extent  truly,  on  the  uncivilized  condi 
tion  of  their  neighbors  up  the  line ;  the  roughness  of  ac 
commodation,  the  boldness  and  license  of  the  cowboys, 
the  daring  and  insolence  of  the  cattle  thieves,  the  cun 
ning  and  dishonesty  of  the  Indians,  and  the  uncouthness 
and  viciousness  of  the  half-breeds.  She  had  ended  by 
declaring  eloquently  that  Louise  would  die  of  lonesome- 
ness  if,  by  God's  good  providence,  she  escaped  a  worse 
fate  at  the  hands  of  one  or  all  of  the  many  evils  she  had 
enumerated.  Yes,  it  was  very  evident  Aunt  Helen  had 
not  wanted  her  to  go.  But  Aunt  Helen's  real  reason 
had  been  that  she  held  it  so  dizzily  unconventional  for 
her  niece  to  go  out  to  that  wild  and  unholy  land  alone. 
She  did  not  actually  fear  for  her  niece's  personal  safety, 
and  Louise  more  than  half  suspected  the  truth. 

She  had  heard  all  the  arguments  before.  They  had 
little  or  no  terrors  for  her  now.  They  were  the  argu 
ments  used  by  the  people  back  in  her  eastern  home, 
those  dear,  dear  people,  her  people  —  how  far  away  she 
was !  —  when  they  had  schemed  and  plotted  so  patheti 
cally  to  keep  her  with  them,  the  second  one  to  break 

[32] 


Louise 

away  from  the  slow,  safe,  and  calm  traditions  of  her  kin 
in  the  place  where  generation  after  generation  of  her 
people  had  lived  and  died,  and  now  lay  waiting  the 
Great  Judgment  in  the  peaceful  country  burying- 
ground. 

She  had  listened  to  them  dutifully,  half- belie vingly, 
swallowed  hard  and  followed  her  uncle,  her  father's 
youngest  brother,  to  the  "  Land  of  the  Dakotahs,"  the 
fair  land  of  promise,  right  in  the  face  of  her  fears  and 
the  loneliness  that  loomed  before  her  —  a  thing  with 
smirks  and  horns  and  devil's  eyes  that  would  not  be 
suppressed,  but  perched  itself  insolently  before  her,  a 
!  heart-choking  presence,  magnified  by  the  mist  in  her 
<eyes,  through  all  the  long,  long  journey  to  the  west 
country.  It  had  left  her  for  a  while  when  she  had 
crossed  the  Sioux  and  was  on  Dakota  soil  at  last.  It 
was  such  a  glorious  land  through  which  she  was  passing, 
the  fair  region  of  the  corn -belt,  and  such  a  prosperous 
Qand,  and  the  fields  spread  so  broadly.  It  had  been  a 
sunny  day  with  clear  skies,  one  of  those  days  when  dis 
tances  are  so  infinite  in  South  Dakota,  the  land  of  wide 
spread  spaces.  It  was  indeed  a  fertile  valley  through 
which  she  was  passing.  There  is  none  better  on  earth. 

When  her  train  had  pulled  out  of  Yankton,  she 
reflected  with  a  whimsical  smile  that  she  had  not  yet 
seen  an  Indian.  To  be  sure,  she  had  not  really  ex-. 
3ected  to  see  one  in  feathers  and  war-paint,  but  surely 
in  Indian  of  some  description  —  did  not  the  traditions 
3  [33] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

of  her  youth  run  that  Dakota  was  the  land  of  Indians 
and  blizzards  ?  She  well  remembered  —  indeed,  could 
she  ever  forget  ?  —  when,  a  tot  of  seven  or  eight,  she  had 
run  out  into  the  road  to  gaze  after  the  carry-all  that 
was  taking  her  well-beloved  young  uncle  away,  away, 
into  that  dreadful  land  where  blood  ran  like  rivers  and 
where  people  trimmed  their  clothes  with  scalps.  She 
even  remembered  the  feel  of  the  warm,  yellow  dust  up 
to  her  bare  ankles  and  the  dreadful  lump  that  she 
could  n't  swallow  when  her  uncle  leaned  out  and  waved 
his  hat  vigorously,  crying  out  gayly  :  — 

"  Good-bye,  little  girl,  good-bye.  If  they  take  my 
scalp,  1 11  beg  them  as  a  special  favor  to  send  it  back  to 
you  as  a  keepsake.  Don't  forget  to  take  good  care  of 
it.  I  was  always  rather  proud  of  my  yaller  mop."" 

He  had  said  more ;  he  had  kept  on  calling  to  her 
till  the  big  woods  swallowed  him.  But  she  had  under 
stood  nothing  after  that  last  awful  charge.  It  had  hap 
pened  more  than  fifteen  years  before,  but  for  many  and 
many  a  day  thereafter,  sensitive  mite  that  she  had  been, 
she  would  run  and  hide  in  the  hay-mow  whenever  she 
saw  her  father  or  the  boys  coming  from  town  with  the 
mail.  It  was  years  before  the  horror  of  the  expected 
packet  containing  the  fair  hair  of  her  young  uncle, 
dabbled  with  blood,  fell  away  from  her. 

Gradually  the  awfulness  of  that  dread  expectation 
passed  away.  Now,  that  same  dear  uncle  was  a  man  of 
power  and  position  in  the  new  land  that  had  graciously 
[31] 


Louise 

permitted  him  his  scalp.  Only  last  November  he  had 
been  reflected  to  his  third  term  on  the  bench  of  his  cir 
cuit  with  a  big,  heart-stirring  majority.  In  the  day  of 
his  prosperity  he  had  not  forgotten  the  little,  tangle- 
haired  girl  who  had  cried  so  inconsolably  when  he  went 
away,  and  the  unaccountable  horror  in  whose  eyes  he  had 
tried  to  laugh  away  on  that  never-to-be-forgotten  day 
when  he  had  wrenched  his  heartstrings  from  their  safe 
abiding-place  and  gone  forth  in  quest  of  the  pot  of  gold 
at  the  rainbow's  end  —  the  first  of  many  generations. 
Tradition  knew  no  other  since  his  ancestors  had  felled 
forests  and  built  homes  of  hewn  logs.  Now  he  had  sent 
for  Louise.  His  court  reporter  had  recently  left  him 
for  other  fields  of  labor. 

There  was  commotion  among  her  people  on  receipt  of 
the  astounding  proposition.  She  lived  over  again  the 
dark  days  of  the  first  flitting.  It  might  well  be  her  uncle 
had  exaggerated  the  dangers  of  life  in  the  new  land.  It 
was  great  fun  to  shock  his  credulous  relatives.  He  had 
surely  written  them  some  enormous  tales  during  those 
fifteen  years  and  more.  He  used  to  chuckle  heartily  to 
himself  at  reading  some  of  the  sympathizing  replies. 
But  these  tales  were  held  in  evidence  against  him  now 
that  he  dared  to  want  Louise.  Every  letter  was  brought 
out  by  Louise's  dear  old  grandmother  and  read  to  her 
over  again.  Louise  did  not  half  believe  them,  but  they 
were  gospel  truth  to  her  grandmother  and  almost  so  to 
her  father  and  mother  as  well.  She  remembered  the 

[35] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

old  spirit  of  fun  rampant  in  her  favorite  uncle,  and 
while  his  vivid  pictures  took  all  the  color  from  her  sen 
sitive  face,  deep  down  in  her  heart  she  recognized  them 
for  what  they  were  worth.  The  letters  were  a  strange 
medley  of  grasshoppers,  blizzards,  and  Indians.  But  a 
ten-dollar  per  diem  was  a  great  temptation  over  a  five- 
dollar  per  diem,  and  times  were  pretty  hard  on  the  old 
farm.  More  than  all,  the  inexplicable  something  that 
had  led  her  uncle  to  throw  tradition  to  the  four  winds 
of  heaven  was  calling  her  persistently  and  would  not  be 
denied.  So  she  had  written  to  him  for  the  truth. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  had  answered,  "  I  live  in  a  little 
city  whose  civilization  would  make  some  of  our  good 
friends  in  the  old  home  stare.  As  for  grasshoppers,  I 
believe  there  was  some  crazy  talk  ages  ago,  but  in  my 
day  I  do  well  to  corner  enough  scrawny,  scared  speci 
mens  to  land  a  fish  in  midsummer.  Their  appall 
ing  scarcity  is  a  constant  sorrow  to  me.  Makes  me 
plumb  mad  even  yet  to  think  of  the  hopeless  hours  I 
used  to  spend  blistering  my  nose  on  White  River,  dan 
gling  for  my  finny  favorite  with  dough-balls.  Dough- 
balls  —  ugh  !  '  Send  us  more  grasshoppers,  oh,  Lord,1 
is  my  daily  prayer.  As  for  your  last  question,  I  cannot 
answer  it  so  well.  Not  enjoying  the  personal  acquaint 
ance  of  many  Indians  I  cannot  tell  you  much  about 
them.  I  believe  there  are  a  few  over  on  the  Crow  Creek 
Reservation  and  perhaps  as  many  on  Lower  Brule.  I 
would  n't  be  positive,  but  I  think  so.  Occasionally  I 
[36J 


Louise 

meet  one  coming  from  that  direction.  I  have  heard  — 
mind,  this  is  only  hearsay  —  that  there  are  a  handful 
or  so  down  on  the  Rosebud  Reservation.  I  would  n't 
vouch  for  it.  You  can  hear  most  anything  in  this  day 
and  generation.  The  few  I  have  met  seem  mild  enough. 
They  appear  to  be  rather  afraid  of  me.  Their  chief  oc 
cupations  seem  to  be  dog-eating  and  divorce-getting,  so 
you  can  see  for  yourself  how  highly  modern  and  civil 
ized  they  are  becoming.  I  am  sure  you  will  have  no 
trouble." 

Louise  had  not  altogether  believed  this  rollicking 
letter,  but  it  had  helped  her  to  her  decision. 

Wind  City  and  still  no  Indians  ;  but  there  was  the 
dear  hero  of  her  childhood.  He  was  much  changed  to 
be  sure  ;  his  big  joints  had  taken  on  more  flesh  and  he 
had  gained  in  dignity  of  deportment  what  he  had  lost 
in  ease  of  movement.  His  once  merry  eyes  had  grown 
keen  with  the  years  of  just  judging.  The  lips  that  had 
laughed  so  much  in  the  old  days  were  set  in  lines 
of  sternness.  Judge  Hammond  Dale  was  a  man  who 
would  live  up  to  the  tenets  of  his  high  calling  without 
fear  or  favor,  through  good  and  evil  report.  Yet 
through  all  his  gravity  of  demeanor  and  the  pride  of 
his  integrity,  Louise  instinctively  felt  his  kindliness  and 
loved  him  for  it.  The  loneliness  fell  away  from  her  and 
a  measure  of  content  had  come  in  its  place,  until  the 
letter  had  come  from  the  State's  attorney  up  in  the 
Kemah  County :  — 

[37] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

MY  DEAR  Miss  DALE  :  —  The  eighteenth  of  August  is 
the  date  set  for  the  preliminary  hearing  of  Jesse  Black. 
Will  you  come  and  take  the  testimony  ?  I  am  very  anxious 
that  the  testimony  be  taken  by  a  competent  reporter  and 
shall  be  grateful  to  you  if  you  decide  to  come. 

The  Judge  will  tell  you  about  our  poor  accommodations. 
Let  me  recommend  to  your  consideration  some  good 
friends  of  mine,  the  Willistons,  father  and  daughter.  They 
live  three  miles  northwest  of  Kemah.  The  Judge  will 
remember  Williston,  George  Williston  of  the  Lazy  S.  They 
are  cultured  people,  though  their  way  of  living  is  neces 
sarily  primitive.  I  am  sure  you  will  like  it  better  there 
than  at  our  shabby  little  hotel,  which  is  a  rendez 
vous  for  a  pretty  rough  class  of  men,  especially  at  court 
time. 

If  you  decide  to  come,  Mary  Williston  will  meet  you  at 
Velpen.  Please  let  me  know  your  decision. 

Very  sincerely, 

RICHARD  GORDON. 

So  here  she  was,  going  into  the  Indian  country  at 
last.  A  big  State,  South  Dakota,  and  the  phases  of  its 
civilization  manifold.  Having  come  so  far,  to  refuse  to 
go  on  seemed  like  turning  back  with  her  hand  already 
on  the  plough,  so  with  a  stout  heart  she  had  wired 
Richard  Gordon  that  she  would  go.  But  it  was  pretty 
hard  now,  to  be  sure,  and  pretty  dreary,  coming  into 
Velpen  knowing  that  she  would  see  no  one  she  knew 
in  all  the  wide,  wide  world.  The  thought  choked  her 
and  the  impish  demon,  Loneliness,  he  of  the  smirk 
and  horns  and  devil's  eyes,  loomed  leeringly  before  her 

[38] 


Louise 

again.  Blindly,  she  picked  up  her  umbrella,  suit-case, 
and  rain-coat. 

"  Homesick  ? "  asked  the  kindly  brakeman,  with  a 
consolatory  grin  as  he  came  to  assist  her  with  her 
baggage. 

She  bit  her  lip  in  mortification  to  think  she  had  car 
ried  her  feelings  so  palpably  on  her  sleeve.  But  she 
nodded  honestly. 

"  Maybe  it  won't  be  so  bad,1'  sympathized  the  brake 
man.  His  rough  heart  had  gone  out  to  the  slim,  fair- 
haired  young  creature  with  the  vague  trouble  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Louise,  gratefully. 

There  was  a  moment's  bewilderment  on  the  station 
platform.  There  was  no  one  anywhere  who  seemed  to 
be  Mary  —  no  one  who  might  be  looking  for  her.  It 
was  evening,  too,  the  lonesome  evening  to  those  away 
from  home,  when  thoughts  stab  and  memories  sap  the 
courage.  Some  one  pushed  her  rudely  aside.  She  was 
in  the  way  of  the  trucks. 

"  Chuck  it !  None  o'  your  sass,  my  lad  !  There's  my 
fist.  Heft  it  if  you  don't  put  no  stock  in  its  looks.  Git 
out  o'  this,  I  say  ! " 

The  voice  was  big  and  convincing.  The  man  was  n't 
so  big,  but  some  way  he  looked  convincing,  too.  The 
truckman  stepped  aside,  but  with  plucky  temerity 
answered  back. 

"  Get  out  yourself !  Think  you  own  the  whole 
[39] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

cattle  country  jest  'cause  you  herd  a  few  ornery,  pink- 
eyed,  slab-sided  critters  for  your  salt  ?  Well,  the  rail 
road  ain't  the  range,  le'  me  tell  you  that.  Jest  you  run 
your  own  affairs,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Thanky.  Glad  to.  And  as  my  affairs  is  at  pres 
ent  a  lady,  1 11  thank  you  to  jest  trundle  this  here 
railroad  offspring  to  the  back  o'  this  here  lady  —  the 
back,  I  say  —  back  ain't  front,  is  it  ?  Was  n't  where  I 
was  eddicated.  That 's  better.  And  ef  you  ain't  satis 
fied,  why,  I  belong  to  the  Three  Bars.  Ever  hear  o'  the 
Three  Bars  ?  Ef  I  'm  out,  jest  leave  word  with  the 
Boss,  will  you  ?  He  '11  see  I  git  the  word.  Yes,  sir, 
you  ol'  hoss  thief,  I  belong  to  the  Three  Bars." 

The  encounter  was  not  without  interested  spectators. 
Louise's  brakeman  was  grinning  broadly  at  the  discom 
fiture  of  his  fellow-employee.  Louise  herself  had  for 
gotten  her  predicament  in  the  sudden  whirlwind  of 
which  she  was  the  innocent  storm-centre. 

The  cowboy  with  the  temper,  having  completely 
routed  the  enemy  to  the  immense  satisfaction  of  the 
onlookers,  though  why,  no  one  knew  exactly,  nor  what 
the  merits  of  the  case,  turned  abruptly  to  Louise. 

"  Are  you  her  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  perceptible  cooling 
of  his  assertive  bravado. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Louise,  smiling  fearlessly  at  her 
champion,  though  inwardly  quaking  at  the  intuition 
that  had  flashed  upon  her  that  this  strange,  uncouth 
man  had  come  to  take  the  place  of  Mary.  "  The 

[40] 


Louise 

boldness  and  license  of  the  cowboys,"  her  aunt  had 
argued.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  boldness. 
Would  the  rest  of  the  statement  hold  good  ? 

"  I  think  maybe  I  am,  though  I  am  Louise  Dale,  the 
new  court  reporter.  I  expected  Miss  Mary  Williston 
to  meet  me.11 

"  Then  you  are  her,"  said  the  man,  with  renewed 
cheerfulness,  seizing  her  suit-case  and  striding  off. 
"  Come  along.  We  '11  git  some  supper  afore  we  start. 
You  Ye  dead  tired,  more  'n  likely.  It  '11  be  moonlight 
so 't  won't  matter  ef  we  are  late  a  gittin'  home." 

"  Court  reporter  !  I  '11  be  doggoned  !  "  muttered  the 
brakeman.  "  The  new  girl  from  down  East.  A  pore 
little  white  lamb  among  a  pack  o'  wolves  and  coyotes, 
and  homesick  a'ready.  No  wonder !  I  '11  be  takin'  you 
back  to-morrow,  I  'm  thinkin',  young  lady." 

He  did  n't  know  the  "  little  white  lamb  "  who  had 
come  to  help  Paul  Langford  and  Dick  Gordon  in  their 
big  fight. 


[41] 


CHAPTER   IV 

"MAGGOT" 

A  hour  prior  to  this  little  episode,  Jim  Munson 
had  sauntered  up  to  the  ticket  window  only  to 
find  that  the  train  from  the  East  was  forty  min 
utes  late.  He  turned  away  with  a  little  shrug  of  relief. 
It  was  a  foreign  role  he  was  playing, —  this  assumption 
of  the  duties  of  a  knight  in  dancing  attendance  on 
strange  ladies.  Secretly,  he  chafed  under  it ;  outwardly, 
he  was  magnificently  indifferent.  He  had  a  reputa 
tion  to  sustain,  a  reputation  of  having  yet  to  meet  that 
which  would  lower  his  proud  boast  that  he  was  afraid  of 
nothing  under  the  sun,  neither  man  nor  devil.  But  he 
doubted  his  ability  so  to  direct  the  point  of  view  of  the 
Boss  or  the  Scribe  or  the  rest  of  the  boys  of  the  Three 
Bars  ranch,  who  were  on  a  still  hunt  for  his  spot  of 
vulnerability. 

The  waiting-room  was  hot, —  unbearably  so  to  a 
man  who  practically  lived  in  the  open.  He  strolled  out 
side  and  down  the  tracks.  He  found  himself  wishing 
the  train  had  been  on  time.  Had  it  been  so,  it  —  the 
impending  meeting  —  would  now  have  been  a  thing  of 
the  forgotten  past.  He  must  needs  fortify  himself  all 
over  again.  But  sauntering  down  the  track  toward  the 

[42] 


"Maggot' 

stockyards,  he  filled  his  cob  pipe,  lighted  it,  and  was 
comforted.     He  had  a  forty-minute  reprieve. 

The  boys  had  tried  most  valiantly  to  persuade  him 
to  "  fix  up  "  for  this  event.  He  had  scorned  them  in 
dignantly.  If  he  was  good  enough  as  he  was  —  black 
woollen  shirt,  red  neckerchief  and  all —  for  men,  just  so 
was  he  good  enough  for  any  female  that  ever  lived.  So 
he  assumed  a  little  swagger  as  he  stepped  over  the  ties, 
and  tried  to  make  himself  believe  that  he  was  glad  he 
had  not  allowed  himself  to  be  corrupted  by  proffers  of 
blue  shirts  and  white  neckerchiefs. 

He  was  approaching  the  stockyards.  There  was 
movement  there.  Sounds  of  commands,  blows,  profane 
epithets,  and  worried  bawlings  changed  the  placid  even 
ing  calm  into  noisy  strife.  It  is  always  a  place  in 
teresting  to  cowmen.  Jim  relegated  thoughts  of  the 
coming  meeting  to  the  background  while  he  leaned  on 
the  fence,  and,  with  idle  absorption,  watched  the  load 
ing  of  cattle  into  a  stock  car.  A  switch  engine,  steam 
ing  and  spluttering,  stood  ready  to  make  way  for 
another  car  so  soon  as  the  present  one  should  be  laden. 
He  was  not  the  only  spectator.  Others  were  before 
him.  Two  men  strolled  up  to  the  side  opposite  as  he 
settled  down  to  musing  interest. 

"  Gee  !  "  he  swore  gently  under  his  breath,  "  ef  that 
ain't  Bill  Brown  !     Yep.     It   is,  for  a  fac\     Wonder 
what  he 's  a  shippin1  now  for  !  "     He  scrambled  lightly 
over  the  high  fence  of  the  pen. 
[43] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars    k 

"  Hullo,  there,  Bill  Brown !  "  he  yelled,  genially,  mak 
ing  his  way  as  one  accustomed  through  the  bunch  of 
reluctant,  excited  cattle. 

"  Hullo  yourself,  Jim  !  What  you  doin'  in  town  ?  " 
responded  the  man  addressed,  pausing  in  his  labor  to  wipe 
the  streaming  moisture  from  his  face.  He  fanned  him 
self  vigorously  with  his  drooping  hat  while  he  talked. 

"  Gal  hunting"  answered  Jim,  soberly  and  despond 
ently. 

"  Hell ! "  Brown  surveyed  him  with  astonished  but 
sympathetic  approbation.  "  Hell !  "  he  repeated.  "  You 
don't  mean  it,  do  you,  Jim,  honest  ?  Come,  now,  hon 
est  ?  So  you  've  come  to  it,  at  last,  have  you  ?  Well, 
well !  What 's  comin'  over  the  Three  Bars  ?  What  11 
the  boys  say  ?  " 

He  came  nearer  and  lowered  his  voice  to  a  confiden 
tial  tone.  "  Say,  Jim,  how  did  it  come  about  ?  And 
who 's  the  lady  ?  Lord,  Jim,  you  of  all  people  ! "  He 
laughed  uproariously. 

"  Aw,  come  off ! "  growled  Jim,  in  petulant  scorn. 
"  You  make  me  tired  !  You  're  plumb  luney,  that  's 
what  you  are.  I  'm  after  the  new  gal  reporter.  She 's 
due  on  that  low-down,  ornery  train.  Wish  —  it  —  was 
in  Kingdom  Come.  Yep,  I  do,  for  a  fac'." 

"  Oh,  well,  never  mind  !     I  did  n't  mean  anything," 
laughed  Brown,  good-naturedly.    "  But  it  does  beat  the 
band,  Jim,  now  does  n't  it,  how  you  people  scare  at 
petticoats.     They  ain't  pizen  — honest." 
[44] 


-Maggot' 

Jim  looked  on  idly.  Occasionally,  he  condescended 
to  head  a  rebellious  steer  shute-wards.  Out  beyond,  it 
was  still  and  sweet  and  peaceful,  and  the  late  afternoon 
had  put  on  that  thin  veil  of  coolness  which  is  a  God- 
given  refreshment  after  the  heat  of  the  day.  But  here 
in  the  pen  all  was  confusion.  The  raucous  cattle-calls 
of  the  cowboys  smote  the  evening  air  startlingly. 

"Here,  Bill  Brown  !  "  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  "  where 
did  you  run  across  that  critter?"  He  slapped  the 
shoulder  of  a  big,  raw-boned,  long-eared  steer  as  he 
spoke.  The  animal  was  on  the  point  of  being  driven 
up  the  shute. 

"  What  you  want  to  know  for  ?  "  asked  Brown  in 
surprise. 

"  Reason  'nough.  That  critter  belongs  to  us,  that 's 
why ;  and  I  want  to  know  where  you  got  him,  that 's 
what  I  want  to  know." 

"  You  're  crazy,  Jim  !  Why,  I  bought  that  fellow 
from  Jesse  Black  t'  other  day.  I  've  got  a  bill-of-sale 
for  him.  I  'm  shippin'  a  couple  of  cars  to  Sioux  City 
and  bought  him  to  send  along.  That  's  on  the  square." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it  —  s'  far  as  you  're  concerned, 
Bill  Brown,"  said  Jim,  "  but  that 's  our  critter  jest 
the  same,  and  I  '11  jest  tote  'im  along  'f  you  've  no 
objections." 

"  Well,  I  guess  not ! "  said  Brown,  laconically. 

"  Look  here,  Bill  Brown,"  Jim  was  getting  hot- 
headedly  angry,  "  did  n't  yon  know  Jesse  Black  stands 
[  45  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

trial  to-morrow  for  rustlin'  that  there  very  critter  from 
the  Three  Bars  ranch  ?" 

"  No,  I  did  n't,"  Brown  answered,  shortly.  "  Any 
case  ?  " 

"  I  guess  yes  !  Williston  o'  the  Lazy  S  saw  this  very 
critter  on  that  island  where  Jesse  Black  holds  out."  He 
proceeded  to  relate  minutely  the  story  to  which  Willis- 
ton  was  going  to  swear  on  the  morrow.  "  But,"  he 
concluded,  "  Jesse 's  goin'  to  fight  like  hell  against  bein' 
bound  over." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Brown,  perplexedly.  "  But  the 
brand,  Jim,  it 's  not  yours  or  Jesse's  either." 

"  'Quainted  with  any  J  R  ranch  in  these  parts  ?  " 
queried  Jim,  shrewdly.  "  I  ain't." 

"  Well,  neither  am  I,"  confessed  Brown,  "  but  that 's 
not  sayin'  there  ain't  one  somewhere.  Maybe  we  can 
trace  it  back." 

"  Shucks  !  "  exploded  Jim. 

u  Maybe  you  're  right,  Jim,  but  I  don't  propose  to 
lose  the  price  o'  that  animal  less'n  I  have  to.  You 
can't  blame  me  for  that.  I  paid  good  money  for  it. 
If  it 's  your  'n,  why,  of  course,  it 's  your  'n.  But  I  want 
to  be  sure  first.  Sure  you  'd  know  him,  Jim  ?  How 
could  you  be  so  blamed  sure  ?  Your  boss  must  range 
five  thousand  head." 

"  Know  him  ?  Know  Mag  ?  I  'd  know  Mag  ef  my 
eyes  were  full  o'  soundin'  cataracts.  He 's  an  old  and 
tried  friend  o'  mine.  The  meanest  critter  the  Lord 

[46] 


"Maggot' 

ever  let  live  and  that 's  a  fac'.  But  the  Boss  calls  'im 
his  maggot.  Seems  to  actually  churish  a  kind  o'  'fection 
for  the  ornery  critter,  and  says  the  luck  o'  the  Three 
Bar  would  sort  o'  peak  and  pine  ef  he  should  ever  git 
rid  o'  the  pesky  brute.  Maybe  he  's  right.  Leastwise, 
the  critter 's  his,  and  when  a  thing  "s  yours,  why,  it 's 
yours  and  that 's  all  there  is  about  it.  By  cracky,  the 
Boss  is  some  mad !  You  'd  think  him  and  that  wall 
eyed,  cross-grained  son-of-a-gun  had  been  kind  and  lov- 
in'  mates  these  many  years.  Well,  I  ain't  met  up  with 
this  ornery  critter  for  some  time.  Hullo  there,  Mag  ! 
Look  kind  o'  sneakin',  now,  don't  you,  wearin'  that  out 
landish  and  unbeknownst  J  R  ?  " 

Bill  Brown  thoughtfully  surveyed  the  steer  whose 
ownership  was  thus  so  unexpectedly  disputed. 

"  You  hold  him,"  insisted  Jim.  "  Ef  he  ain't  ours, 
you  can  send  him  along  with  your  next  shipment,  can't 
you  ?  What  you  wobblin'  about  ?  Ain't  afraid  the 
Boss  '11  claim  what  ain't  his,  are  you,  Bill  Brown  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  can't  he'p  myself,  I  guess,"  said  Brown, 
in  a  tone  of  voice  which  told  plainly  of  his  laudable 
effort  to  keep  his  annoyance  in  subjection  to  his  good 
fellowship.  "  You  send  Langford  down  here  first  thing 
in  the  morning.  If  he  says  the  critter  's  his  'n,  that 
ends  it." 

Now  that  he  had  convinced  his  quondam  acquaint 
ance,  the  present  shipper,  to  his  entire  satisfaction,  Jim 
glanced  at  his  watch  with  ostentatious  ease.  His  time 

[47] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

had  come.  If  all  the  minutes  of  all  the  time  to  come 
should  be  as  short  as  those  forty  had  been,  how  soon  he, 
Jim  Munson,  cow-puncher,  would  have  ridden  them  all 
into  the  past.  But  his  "  get  away  "  must  be  clean  and 
dignified. 

"  Likely  bunch  you  have  there,"  he  said,  casually, 
turning  away  with  unassumed  reluctance. 

"  Fair  to  middling"  said  Brown  with  pride. 

"  Shippin'  to  Sioux  City,  you  said  ?" 

"  Yep." 

"  WeU,  so  long.1' 

"  So  long.     Shippin'  any  these  days,  Jim  ?  " 

"Nope.  Boss  never  dribbles  'em  out.  When  he 
ships  he  ships.  Ain't  none  gone  over  the  rails  since 
last  Fall." 

He  stepped  off  briskly  and  vaulted  the  fence  with  as 
lightsome  an  air  as  though  he  were  bent  on  the  one 
errand  his  heart  would  choose,  and  swung  up  the  track 
carelessly  humming  a  tune.  But  he  had  a  vise-like  grip 
on  his  cob  pipe.  His  teeth  bit  through  the  frail  stem. 
It  split.  He  tossed  the  remains  away  with  a  gesture  of 
nervous  contempt.  A  whistle  sounded.  He  quickened 
his  pace.  If  he  missed  her, —  well,  the  Boss  was  a  good 
fellow,  took  a  lot  of  nonsense  from  the  boys,  but  there 
were  things  he  would  not  stand  for.  Jim  did  not  need 
to  be  told  that  this  would  be  one  of  them. 

The  platform  was  crowded.     The  yellow  sunlight  fell 
slantingly  on  the  gay  groups. 
[48] 


"  Maggot'' 

"Aw,  Munson,  you  're  bluffin',"  jested  the  mail  car 
rier.  ">You  ain't  lookin'  fer  nobody  ;  you  know  you 
ain't.  You  ain't  got  no  folks.  Don't  believe  you  never 
had  none.  Never  heard  of  'em." 

"Lookin'  for  my  uncle,"  explained  Jim,  serenely. 
"  Rich  old  codger  from  the  State  o'  Pennsylvaney 
some'ers.  Ain't  got  nobody  but  me  left." 

"  Aw,  come  off !     What  you  givin'  us  ?  " 

But  Jim  only  winked  and  slouched  off,  prime  for 
more  adventures.  He  was  enjoying  himself  hugely, — 
when  he  was  not  thinking  of  petticoats. 


[49] 


CHAPTER  V 

AT  THE  BON  AMI 

UNLIKE  most  of  those  who  ride  much,  her  escort 
was  a  fast  walker.    Louise  had  trouble  in  keep 
ing  up  with  him,  though  she  had  always  con 
sidered  herself  a  good  pedestrian.    But  Jim  Munson  was 
laboring  under  strange  embarrassment.     He  was  red- 
facedly  conscious  of  the  attention  he  was   attracting 
striding  up  the  inclined  street  from  the  station  in  the 
van  of  the  prettiest  and  most  thoroughbred  girl  who 
had  struck  Velpen  this  long  time. 

Not  that  he  objected  to  attention  under  normal  con 
ditions.  Not  he  !  He  courted  it.  His  chief  aim  in  life 
seemed  to  be  to  throw  the  limelight  of  publicity,  first, 
on  the  Three  Bars  ranch,  as  the  one  and  only  in  the 
category  of  ranches,  and  to  be  connected  with  it  in  some 
way,  however  slight,  the  unquestioned  aim  and  object  of 
existence  of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  cattle 
country ;  secondly,  on  Paul  Langford,  the  very  boss  of 
bosses,  whose  master  mind  was  the  prop  and  stay  of  the 
Northwest,  if  not  of  all  Christendom  ;  and  lastly  upon 
himself,  the  modest,  but  loyal  servitor  in  this  Paradise 
on  earth.  But  girls  were  far  from  normal  conditions. 
There  were  no  women  at  the  Three  Bars.  There  never 

[50] 


At  the  Bon  Ami 

had  been  any  woman  at  the  Three  Bars  within  the 
memory  of  man.  To  be  sure,  Williston's  little  girl  had 
sometimes  ridden  over  on  an  errand,  but  she  did  n't 
count.  This  —  this  was  the  real  thing,  and  he  did  n't 
know  just  how  to  deal  with  it.  He  needed  time  to 
enlarge  his  sight  to  this  broadened  horizon. 

He  glanced  with  nonchalance  over  his  shoulder. 
After  all,  she  was  only  a  girl,  and  not  such  a  big  one 
either.  She  wore  longer  skirts  than  Williston's  girl, 
but  he  did  n't  believe  she  was  a  day  older.  He  squared 
about  immediately,  and  what  he  had  meant  to  say  he 
never  said,  on  account  of  an  unaccountable  thickening 
of  his  tongue. 

Presently,  he  bolted  into  a  building,  which  proved  to 
be  the  Bon  Ami,  a  restaurant  under  the  direct  super 
vision  of  the  fat,  voluble,  and  tragic  Mrs.  Higgins, 
where  the  men  from  the  other  side  of  the  river  had 
right  of  way  and  unlimited  credit. 

"  What  11  you  have  ?  "  he  asked,  hospitably,  the  famil 
iar  air  of  the  Bon  Ami  bringing  him  back  to  his  accus 
tomed  self-confident  swagger. 

"  Might  I  have  some  tea  and  toast,  please  ? "  said 
Louise,  sinking  into  a  chair  at  the  nearest  table,  with 
two  startling  yet  amusing  thoughts  rampant  in  her 
brain.  One  was,  that  she  wished  Aunt  Helen  could 
have  seen  her  swinging  along  in  the  wake  of  this  typical 
"  bold  and  licentious  "  man,  and  calmly  and  comfortably 
sitting  down  to  a  cosey  little  supper  for  two  at  a  public 
[51] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

eating  house ;  the  other  startling  thought  was  to  the 
effect  that  the  invitation  was  redolent  with  suggestive- 
ness,  and  she  wondered  if  she  was  not  expected  to  say, 
"  A  whiskey  for  me,  please.11 

"  Guess  you  kin,"  answered  Jim,  wonder  in  his  voice 
at  the  exceeding  barrenness  of  the  order.  "  Mrs.  Hig- 
gins,  hello  there,  Mrs.  Higgins !  I  say,  there,  bring  on 
some  tea  and  toast  for  the  lady  ! " 

"  Where  is  the  Three  Bars  ? "  asked  Louise,  her 
thoughts  straying  to  the  terrors  of  a  fifteen-mile  drive 
through  a  strange  and  uncanny  country  with  a  stranger 
and  yet  more  uncanny  man.  She  had  accepted  him 
without  question.  He  was  part  and  parcel  with  the 
strangeness  of  her  new  position.  But  the  suddenness  of 
the  transition  from  idle  conjecture  to  startling  reality 
had  raised  her  proud  head  and  she  looked  this  new 
development  squarely  in  the  face  without  outward  hint 
of  inward  perturbation. 

"  Say,  where  was  you  raised  ?  "  asked  Jim,  with  tol 
erant  scorn,  between  huge  mouthfuls  of  boiled  pork  and 
cabbage,  interspersed  with  baked  potatoes,  hot  rolls,  and 
soggy  dumplings,  shovelled  in  with  knife,  fork,  or  spoon. 
He  occasionally  anticipated  dessert  by  making  a  sudden 
sortie  into  the  quarter  of  an  immense  custard  pie,  hast 
ening  the  end  by  means  of  noisy  draughts  of  steaming 
coffee.  Truly,  the  Three  Bars  connection  had  the  fat 
of  the  land  at  the  Bon  Ami. 

"  Why,  it 's  the  Three  Bars  that  's  bringin'  you  here. 
[52] 


At  the  Bon  Ami 

Did  n't  you  know  that  ?  There  's  nary  a  man  in  the 
hull  country  with  backbone  enough  to  keep  him  off  all- 
fours  'ceptin'  Paul  Langford.  Um.  You  just  try  once 
to  walk  over  the  Boss,  will  you  ?  Lord  !  What  a 
grease  spot  you  'd  make ! " 

"  Mr.  Gordon  is  n't  being  walked  over,  is  he  ? " 
asked  Louise,  finished  with  her  tea  and  toast  and  impa 
tient  to  be  off. 

"  Oh,  Gordon  ?  Pretty  decent  sort  o'  chap.  Right 
idees.  Don't  know  much  about  handlin'  hoss  thieves 
and  sich.  Ain't  smooth  enough.  Acted  kind  o'  like  a 
chicken  with  its  head  cut  off  till  the  Boss  got  into  the 
roundup." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Louise,  whose  conception  of  the  young 
counsel  for  the  State  did  not  tally  with  this  delineation. 
"  Yep,  Miss,  this  here  's  the  Boss's  doin's.  Yep. 
Lord !  What  '11  that  gang  look  like  when  we  are 
through  with  'em  ?  Spendin'  the  rest  o'  their  days 
down  there  in  Sioux  Falls,  meditatin'  on  the  advisa 
bility  o'  walkin'  clear  o'  the  toes  o'  the  Three  Bars  in  the 
future  and  cussin'  their  stupendified  stupidity  in  foolin' 
even  once  with  the  Three  Bars.  Yep,  sir  —  yep,  ma'am, 
I  mean, —  Jesse  Black  and  his  gang  have  acted  just 
like  pesky,  little  plum'-fool  moskeeters,  and  we  're  goin' 
to  slap  'em.  The  cheek  of  'em,  lightin'  on  the  Three 
Bars  !  Lord  !  " 

"  Mr.  Williston  informed,  did  he  not?" 
"  Williston  ?      Oh,  yes,  he  informed,  but  he  'd  never 
[53] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

V  done  it  if  it  had  n't  V  been  for  the  Boss.  The  ol' 
jellyfish  would  n't  V  had  the  nerve  to  inform  without 
backin',  as  sure  as  a  stone  wall.  The  Boss  is  a  doin' 
this,  I  tell  you,  Miss.  But  Williston  's  a  goin'  on  the 
stand  to-morrer  all  right,  and  so  am  I." 

The  two  cowboys  at  the  corner  table  had  long  since 
finished  their  supper.  They  now  lighted  bad-smelling 
cigars  and  left  the  room.  To  Louise's  great  relief, 
Munson  rose,  too.  He  was  back  very  soon  with  a  neat 
little  runabout  and  a  high-spirited  team  of  bays. 

"  Boss's  private,"  explained  Jim  with  pride.  "  Nothin' 
too  good  for  a  lady,  so  the  Boss  sent  this  and  me  to 
take  keer  o'  it.  And  o'  you,  too,  Miss,"  he  added,  as 
an  afterthought. 

He  held  the  lines  in  his  brown,  muscular  hands,  lov 
ingly,  while  he  stowed  away  Louise's  belongings  and 
himself  snugly  in  the  seat,  and  then  the  blood  burned 
hot  and  stinging  through  his  bronzed,  tough  skin,  for 
suddenly  in  his  big,  honest,  untrained  sensibilities  was 
born  the  consciousness  that  the  Boss  would  have  stowed 
away  the  lady  first.  It  was  an  embarrassing  moment. 
Louise  saved  the  day  by  climbing  in  unconcernedly 
after  him  and  tucking  the  linen  robe  over  her  skirt. 

"  It  will  be  a  dusty  drive,  won't  it  ? "  she  asked, 
simply. 

"  Miss,  you  're  a  —  dandy,"  said  Jim  as  simply. 

As  they  drove  upon  the  pontoon  bridge,  Louise 
looked  back  at  the  little  town  on  the  bluffs,  and  felt  a 

[54] 


At  the  Bon  Ami 

momentary  choking  in  her  throat.  It  was  a  strange 
place,  yet  it  had  tendrils  reaching  homeward.  The 
trail  beyond  was  obscurely  marked  and  not  easy  to  dis 
cern.  She  turned  to  her  companion  and  asked  quickly  : 
"  Why  did  n't  Mary  come  ?  " 

"  Great  guns  !  Did  I  forgit  to  tell  you  ?  Williston  's 
got  the  stomach-ache  to  beat  the  band  and  Mary 's  got 
to  physic  him  up  'gin  to-morrer.  We  've  got  to  git  him 
on  that  stand  if  it  takes  the  hull  Three  Bars  to  hoF  him 
up  and  the  gal  a  pourin'  physic  down  him  between 
times.  Yep,  Ma'am.  He  was  pizened.  You  see, 
everybody  that  ate  any  meat  last  night  was  took  sick 
with  gripin'  cramps,  yep  ;  but  Williston  he  was  worse 'n 
all,  he  bein'  a  hearty  eater.  He  was  a  stayin'  in  town 
over  night  on  this  preliminary  business,  and  Dick  Gor 
don  he  was  took,  too,  but  not  so  bad,  bein'  what  you 
might  call  a  light  eater.  The  Boss  and  me  we  drove 
home  after  all,  though  we  'd  expected  to  stay  for  supper. 
The  pesky  coyotes  got  fooled  that  time.  Yep,  Ma'am, 
no  doubt  about  it  in  the  world.  Friends  o'  Jesse's  that 
we  ain't  able  to  lay  hands  on  yit  pizened  that  there 
meat.  Yep,  no  doubt  about  it.  Dick  was  in  an  awful 
sweat  about  you.  Was  bound  he  was  a  comin'  after 
you  hisself,  sick  as  he  was,  when  we  found  Mary  was  off 
the  count.  So  then  the  Boss  was  a  comin'  and  they  fit 
and  squabbled  for  an  hour  who  could  be  best  spared, 
when  I,  comin'  in,  settled  it  in  a  jiffy  by  offerin'  my 
services,  which  was  gladly  accepted.  When  there  's 

[55] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

pizenin1  goirf  on,  why,  the  Boss's  place  is  hum.  And 
nothin'  would  do  but  the  Boss's  own  particular  outfit. 
He  never  does  things  by  halves,  the  Boss  don't.  So  I 
hikes  home  after  it  and  then  hikes  here." 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  him,  I  am  sure,""  murmured 
Louise,  smiling. 

And  Jim,  daring  to  look  upon  her  smiling  face,  clear 
eyes,  and  soft  hair  under  the  jaunty  French  sailor  hat, 
found  himself  wondering  why  there  was  no  woman  at 
the  Three  Bars.  With  the  swift,  half-intuitive  thought, 
the  serpent  entered  Eden. 


[56] 


CHAPTER   VI 

"NOTHIN'  BUT  A  HOSS  THIEF,   ANYWAY" 

THE  island  teemed  with  early  sunflowers  and  hints 
of  goldenrod  yet  to  come.  The  fine,  white, 
sandy  soil  deadened  the  sound  of  the  horses' 
hoofs.  They  seemed  to  be  spinning  through  space. 
Under  the  cottonwoods  it  grew  dusky  and  still. 

At  the  toll  house  a  dingy  buckboard  in  a  state 
of  weird  dilapidation,  with  a  team  of  shaggy  buck 
skin  ponies,  stood  waiting.  Jim  drew  up.  Two  men 
were  lounging  in  front  of  the  shanty,  chatting  to  the 
toll-man. 

"  Hello,  Jim  ! "  called  one  of  them,  a  tall,  slouching 
fellow  with  sandy  coloring. 

"  Now,  how  the  devil  did  you  git  so  familiar  with  my 
name  ?  "  growled  Jim. 

"  The  Three  Bars  is  gettin1  busy  these  days,"  spoke  up 
the  second  man,  with  an  insolent  grin. 

"  You  bet  it  is,"  bragged  Jim.  "  When  the  ofTcers 
o1  the  law  git  to  sleepin1  with  hoss  thieves  and  rustlers, 
and  take  two  weeks  to  arrest  a  bunch  of  ""em,  when  they 
know  prezactly  where  they  keep  theirselves,  and  have 
to  have  special  deputies  appointed  over  'em  five  or  six 
times  and  then  let  most  o1  the  bunch  slip  through  their 

[57] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

fingers,  it 's  time  for  some  one  to  git  busy.  And  when 
Jesse  Black  and  his  gang  are  so  desp'rit  they  pizen  the 
chief  witnesses  —  " 

A  gentle  pressure  on  his  arm  stopped  him.  He  turned 
inquiringly. 

"  I  would  n't  say  any  more,"  whispered  Louise.  "  Let 's 
get  on." 

The  hint  was  sufficient,  and  with  the  words,  "  Right 
you  are,  Miss  Reporter,  we  '11  be  gittin'  on,"  Jim  paid 
his  toll  and  spoke  to  his  team. 

"  Just  wait  a  bit,  will  you  ?  "  spoke  up  the  sandy  man. 

"What  for?" 

"  We  Ye  not  just  ready." 

"  Well,  we  are,"  shortly. 

"  We  are  n't,  and  we  don't  care  to  be  passed,  you 
know." 

He  spoke  indifferently.  In  deference  to  Louise,  Jim 
waited.  The  men  smoked  on  carelessly.  The  toll-man 
fidgeted. 

"  You  go  to  hell !  The  Three  Bars  ain't  waitin'  on 
no  damned  hoss  thieves,"  said  Jim,  suddenly. 

His  nervous  team  sprang  forward.  Quick  as  a  flash 
the  sandy  man  was  in  the  buckboard.  He  struck  the 
bays  a  stinging  blow  with  his  rawhide,  and  as  they 
swerved  aside  he  swung  into  the  straight  course  to  the 
narrow  bridge  of  boats.  In  another  moment  the  way 
would  be  blocked.  With  a  burning  oath  Jim,  keeping 
to  the  side  of  the  steep  incline  till  the  river  mire  cut 

[58] 


"Nothin'  but  a  Hoss  Thief,  Anyway" 

him  off,  deliberately  turned  his  stanch  little  team 
squarely,  and  crowded  them  forward  against  the  shaggy 
buckskins.  It  was  team  against  team.  Louise,  cling 
ing  tightly  to  the  seat,  lips  pressed  together  to  keep 
back  any  sound,  felt  a  wild,  inexplicable  thrill  of  con 
fidence  in  the  strength  of  the  man  beside  her. 

The  bays  were  pitifully,  cruelly  lashed  by  the  enraged 
owner  of  the  buckskins,  but  true  as  steel  to  the  familiar 
voice  that  had  guided  them  so  often  and  so  kindly,  they 
gave  not  nor  faltered.  There  was  a  snapping  of  broken 
wood,  a  wrench,  a  giving  way,  and  the  runabout  sprang 
over  debris  of  broken  wheel  and  wagon-box  to  the  nar 
row  confines  of  the  pontoon  bridge. 

"  The  Three  Bars  is  gettin'  busy ! "  gibed  Jim  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  It 's  a  sorry  day  for  you  and  yours,"  cried  the  other, 
in  black  and  ugly  wrath. 

"  We  ain't  afeared.  Your  're  nothin'  but  a  hoss  thief, 
anyway  ! "  responded  Jim,  gleefully,  as  a  parting  shot. 

"  Now  what  do  you  suppose  was  their  game  ? "  he 
asked  of  the  girl  at  his  side. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Louise,  thoughtfully.  "  But 
I  thought  it  not  wise  to  say  too  much  to  them.  You 
are  a  witness,  I  believe  you  said." 

"  Then  you  think  they  are  part  o'  the  gang  ?  " 

"  I  consider  them  at  least  sympathizers,  don't  you  ? 
They  seemed  down  on  the  Three  Bars." 

[59] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

In  the  Indian  country  at  last.  Mile  after  mile  of 
level,  barren  stretches  after  the  hill  region  had  been  left 
behind.  Was  there  no  end  to  the  thirst-inspiring,  mo 
notonous,  lonely  reach  of  cacti  ?  Prairie  dogs,  perched 
in  front  of  their  holes,  chattered  and  scolded  at  them. 
The  sun  went  down  and  a  refreshing  coolness  crept  over 
the  hard,  baked  earth.  Still,  there  was  nothing  but 
distance  anywhere  in  all  the  land,  and  a  feeling  of 
desolation  swept  over  the  girl. 

The  air  of  August  was  delicious  now  that  night  was 
coming  on.  There  was  no  wind,  but  the  swift,  unflag 
ging  pace  of  the  Boss's  matched  team  made  a  stiff  breeze 
to  play  in  their  faces.  It  was  exhilarating.  The  list- 
lessness  and  discouragement  of  the  day  were  forgotten. 
Throwing  her  rain-coat  over  her  shoulders,  Louise  felt 
a  clumsy  but  strangely  gentle  hand  helping  to  draw  it 
closer  around  her.  Someway  the  action,  simple  as  it 
was,  reminded  her  of  the  look  in  that  brakeman's  eyes, 
when  he  had  asked  her  if  she  were  homesick.  Did  this 
man  think  she  was  homesick,  too  ?  She  was  grateful ; 
they  were  very  kind.  What  a  lot  of  good  people  there 
were  in  the  world !  Now,  Jim  Munson  did  not  call  her 
"  little  white  lamb"  to  himself,  the  metaphor  never  en 
tered  his  mind ;  but  in  his  big,  self-confident  heart  he 
did  feel  a  protecting  tenderness  for  her.  She  was  not 
like  any  woman  he  had  ever  seen,  and  it  was  a  big, 
lonesome  country  for  a  slip  of  a  girl  like  her. 

The  moon  came  up.  Then  there  were  miles  of  white 
[60] 


"Nothin'  but  a  Boss  Thief,  Anyway' 

moonlight  and  lonely  plain.  But  for  some  time  now 
there  has  been  a  light  in  front  of  them.  It  is  as  if  it 
must  be  a  will-o'-the-wisp.  They  never  seem  to  get 
to  it.  But  at  last  they  are  there.  The  door  is  wide 
open.  A  pleasant  odor  of  bacon  and  coffee  is  wafted 
out  to  the  tired  travellers. 

"  Come  right  in,"  says  the  cheery  voice  of  Mary. 
"  How  tired  you  must  be,  Miss  Dale.  Tie  up,  Jim, 
and  come  in  and  eat  something  before  you  go.  Well, 
you  can  eat  again  —  two  suppers  won't  hurt  you.  I 
have  kept  things  warm  for  you.  Your  train  must  have 
been  late.  Yes,  Dad  is  better,  thank  you.  He  11  be 
all  right  in  the  morning." 


[61] 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  PRELIMINARY 

VERY  early  in  the  morning  of  the  day  set  for  the 
preliminary  hearing  of  Jesse  Black,  the  young 
owner  of  the  Three  Bars  ranch  rode  over  to  Vel- 
pen.     He  identified  and  claimed  the  animal  held  over 
from  shipment  by  Jim's  persuasion.     Brown  gave  pos 
session  with  a  rueful  countenance. 

"  First  time  Billy  Brown  ever  was  taken  in,"  he  said, 
with  great  disgust. 

Langford  met  with  no  interruption  to  his  journey, 
either  going  or  coming,  although  that  good  cow- 
puncher  of  his,  Jim  Munson,  had  warned  him  to  look 
sharp  to  his  pistols  and  mind  the  bridge.  Jim  being 
of  a  somewhat  belligerent  turn  of  mind,  his  boss  had 
not  taken  the  words  with  much  seriousness.  As  for  the 
fracas  at  the  pontoon,  cowmen  are  touchy  when  it  comes 
to  a  question  of  precedence,  and  it  might  well  be  that 
the  inflammable  Jim  had  brought  the  sudden  storm 
down  on  his  head.  Paul  Langford  rode  through  the 
sweet  early  summer  air  without  let  or  hindrance  and 
looking  for  none.  He  was  jubilant.  Now  was  Willis- 
ton's  story  verified.  The  county  attorney,  Richard 
Gordon,  had  considered  Williston's  story,  coupled  with 

[62] 


The  Preliminary 

his  reputation  for  strict  honesty,  strong  and  sufficient 
enough  to  bind  Jesse  Black  over  to  appear  at  the  next 
regular  term  of  the  circuit  court.  Under  ordinary  cir 
cumstances,  the  State  really  had  an  excellent  chance  of 
binding  over;  but  it  had  to  deal  with  Jesse  Black, 
and  Jesse  Black  had  flourished  for  many  years  west  of 
the  river  with  an  unsavory  character,  but  with  an  almost 
awesome  reputation  for  the  phenomenal  facility  with 
which  he  slipped  out  of  the  net  in  which  the  law  —  in 
the  person  of  its  unpopular  exponent,  Richard  Gordon 
—  was  so  indefatigably  endeavoring  to  enmesh  him. 
The  State  was  prepared  for  a  hard  fight.  But  now  — 
here  was  the  very  steer  Williston  saw  on  the  island 
with  its  Three  Bars  brand  under  Black's  surveillance. 
Williston  would  identify  it  as  the  same.  He,  Lang- 
ford,  would  swear  to  his  own  animal.  The  defence 
would  not  know  he  had  regained  possession  and  would 
not  have  time  to  readjust  its  evidence.  It  would  fall 
down  and  hurt  itself  for  the  higher  court,  and  Dick 
Gordon  would  know  how  to  use  any  inadvertencies 
against  it  —  when  the  time  came.  No  wonder  Lang- 
ford  was  light-hearted.  In  all  his  arrogant  and  unham 
pered  career,  he  had  never  before  received  such  an 
affront  to  his  pride  and  his  sense  of  what  was  due  to 
one  of  the  biggest  outfits  that  ranged  cattle  west  of  the 
river.  Woe  to  him  who  had  dared  tamper  with  the 
concerns  of  Paul  Langford  of  the  Three  Bars. 

Williston  drove  in  from  the  Lazy  S  in  ample  time  for 
[  63  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

the  mid-day  dinner  at  the  hotel  —  the  hearing  was  set 
for  two  o'clock  —  but  his  little  party  contented  itself 
with  a  luncheon  prepared  at  home,  and  packed  neatly 
and  appetizingly  in  a  tin  bucket.  It  was  not  likely 
there  would  be  a  repetition  of  bad  meat.  It  would  be 
poor  policy.  Still,  one  could  not  be  sure,  and  it  was 
most  important  that  Williston  ate  no  bad  meat  that 
day. 

Gordon  met  them  in  the  hot,  stuffy,  little  parlor  of 
the  hotel. 

"  It  was  good  of  you  to  come,11  he  said  to  Louise, 
with  grave  sincerity. 

"  I  did  n't  want  to,"  confessed  Louise,  honestly.  "  I  'm 
afraid  it  is  too  big  and  lonesome  for  me.  I  am  sure  I 
should  have  gone  back  to  Velpen  last  night  to  catch  the 
early  train  had  it  not  been  for  Mary.  She  is  so  — 
good." 

"  The  worst  is  over  now  that  you  have  conquered 
your  first  impulse  to  fly,"  he  said. 

"  I  cried,  though.  I  hated  myself  for  it,  but  I 
could  n't  help  it.  You  see  I  never  was  so  far  from 
home  before." 

He  was  an  absorbed,  hard-working  lawyer.  Years  of 
contact  with  the  plain,  hard  realities  of  rough  living  in 
a  new  country  had  dried  up,  somewhat,  his  stream  of 
sentiment.  Maybe  the  source  was  only  blocked  with 
debris,  but  certainly  the  stream  was  running  dry.  He 
could  not  help  thinking  that  a  girl  who  cries  because 

[61] 


The  Preliminary 

she  is  far  from  home  had  much  better  stay  at  home 
and  leave  the  grave  things  which  are  men's  work  to 
men.  But  he  was  a  gentleman  and  a  kindly  one,  so 
he  answered,  quietly,  "  I  trust  you  will  like  us  better 
when  you  know  us  better,"  and,  after  a  few  more  com 
monplaces,  went  his  way. 

"  There 's  a  man,"  said  Louise,  thoughtfully,  on  the 
way  to  McAllister's  office.  "  I  like  him,  Mary." 

"  And  yet  there  are  men  in  this  county  who  would 
kill  him  if  they  dared." 

"  Mary  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  Are  there  then  so  many 
cut-throats  in  this  awful  country  ?  " 

"  I  think  there  are  many  desperate  men  among  the 
rustlers  who  would  not  hesitate  to  kill  either  Paul 
Langford  or  Richard  Gordon  since  these  prosecutions 
have  begun.  There  are  also  many  good  people  who 
think  Mr.  Gordon  is  just  stirring  up  trouble  and  put 
ting  the  county  to  expense  when  he  can  have  no  hope 
of  conviction.  They  say  that  his  failures  encourage  the 
rustlers  more  than  an  inactive  policy  would." 

"  People  who  argue  like  that  are  either  tainted  with 
dishonesty  themselves  or  they  are  foolish,  one  of  the 
two,"  said  Louise,  with  conviction. 

"Mr.  Gordon  has  one  stanch  supporter,  anyway," 
said  Mary,  smiling.  "Maybe  I  had  better  tell  him. 
Precious  little  encouragement  or  sympathy  he  gets, 
poor  fellow." 

"  Please  do  not,"  replied  Louise,  quickly.  "  I  wonder 
5  [65] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

if  my  friend,  Mr.  Jim  Munson,  has  managed  to  escape 
'  battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death,1  including  death  by 
poison,  and  is  on  hand  with  his  testimony." 

As  they  approached  the  office,  the  crowd  of  men 
around  the  doorway  drew  aside  to  let  them  pass. 

"  Our  chances  of  worming  ourselves  through  that  jam 
seem  pretty  slim  to  me,"  whispered  Mary,  glancing  into 
the  already  overcrowded  room. 

"  Let  me  make  a  way  for  you,"  said  Paul  Langford, 
as  he  separated  himself  from  the  group  of  men  standing 
in  front,  and  came  up  to  them. 

"  I  have  watered  my  horse,"  he  said,  flashing  a  merry 
smile  at  Mary  as  he  began  shoving  his  big  shoulders 
through  the  press,  closely  followed  by  the  two  young 
women. 

It  was  a  strange  assembly  through  which  they 
pressed ;  ranchmen  and  cowboys,  most  of  them,  just  in 
from  ranch  and  range,  hot  and  dusty  from  long  riding, 
perspiring  freely,  redolent  of  strong  tobacco  and  the 
peculiar  smell  that  betokens  recent  and  intimate  com 
panionship  with  that  part  and  parcel  of  the  plains,  the 
horse.  The  room  was  indeed  hot  and  close  and  reeking 
with  bad  odors.  There  were  also  present  a  large  dele 
gation  of  cattle  dealers  and  saloon  men  from  Velpen, 
and  some  few  Indians  from  Rosebud  Agency,  whose 
curiosity  was  insatiable  where  the  courts  were  concerned, 
far  from  picturesque  in  their  ill-fitting,  nondescript 
cowboy  garments. 

[66] 


The  Preliminary 

Yet  they  were  kindly,  most  of  the  men  gathered 
there.  Though  at  first  they  refused,  with  stolid  resent 
ment,  to  be  thus  thrust  aside  by  the  breezy  and  aggres 
sive  owner  of  the  Three  Bars,  planting  their  feet  the 
more  firmly  on  the  rough,  uneven  floor,  and  serenely 
oblivious  to  any  right  of  way  so  arrogantly  demanded 
by  the  big  shoulders,  yet,  when  they  perceived  for 
whom  the  way  was  being  made,  most  of  them  stepped 
hastily  aside  with  muttered  and  abashed  apologies. 
Here  and  there,  however,  though  all  made  way,  there 
would  be  no  red-faced  or  stammering  apology.  Some 
times  the  little  party  was  followed  by  insolent  eyes, 
sometimes  by  malignant  ones.  Had  Mary  Williston 
spoken  truly  when  she  said  the  will  for  bloodshed  was 
not  lacking  in  the  county  ? 

But  if  there  was  aught  of  hatred  or  enmity  in  the 
heavy  air  of  the  improvised  court-room  for  others  be 
sides  the  high-minded  young  counsel  for  law  and  order, 
Mary  Williston  seemed  serenely  unconscious  of  it.  She 
held  her  head  proudly.  Most  of  these  men  she  knew. 
She  had  done  a  man's  work  among  them  for  two  years 
and  more.  In  her  man's  work  of  riding  the  ranges  she 
had  had  good  fellowship  with  many  of  them.  After  to 
day  much  of  this  must  end.  Much  blame  would  accrue 
to  her  father  for  this  day's  work,  among  friends  as  well 
as  enemies,  for  the  fear  of  the  law-defiers  was  an  omni 
present  fear  with  the  small  owner,  stalking  abroad  by 
day  and  by  night.  But  Mary  was  glad  and  there  was 

[  67  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

a  new  dignity  about  her  that  became  her  well,  and  that 
grew  out  cf  this  great  call  to  rally  to  the  things  that 
count. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  room  they  found  the  justice  of 
the  peace  enthroned  behind  a  long  table.  His  Honor, 
Mr.  James  R.  McAllister,  more  commonly  known  as 
Jimmie  Mac,  was  a  ranchman  on  a  small  scale.  He 
was  ignorant,  but  of  an  overweening  conceit.  He  had 
been  a  justice  of  the  peace  for  several  years,  and  labored 
under  the  mistaken  impression  that  he  knew  some  law ; 
but  Gordon,  on  short  acquaintance,  had  dubbed  him 
"Old  Necessity,"  in  despairing  irony,  after  a  certain 
high  light  of  early  territorial  days  who  "  knew  no  law." 
Instead  of  deciding  the  facts  in  the  cases  brought  be 
fore  him  from  the  point  of  view  of  an  ordinary  man  of 
common  sense,  McAllister  went  on  the  theory  that  each 
case  was  fraught  with  legal  questions  upon  which  the 
result  of  the  case  hung  ;  and  he  had  a  way  of  placing 
himself  in  the  most  ridiculous  lights  by  arguing  long 
and  arduously  with  skilled  attorneys  upon  questions  of 
law.  He  made  the  mistake  of  always  trying  to  give  a 
reason  for  his  rulings.  His  rulings,  sometimes,  were 
correct,  but  one  would  find  it  hard  to  say  the  same  of 
his  reasons  for  them. 

Louise's  little  table  was  drawn  closely  before  the  win 
dow  nearest  the  court.  She  owed  this  thoughtfulness 
to  Gordon,  who,  nevertheless,  was  not  in  complete  sym 
pathy  with  her,  because  she  had  cried.  The  table  was 

[68] 


The  Preliminary 

on  the  sunny  side,  but  there  was  a  breeze  out  of  the 
west  and  it  played  refreshingly  over  her  face,  and  blew 
short  strands  of  her  fair  hair  there  also.  To  Gordon, 
wrapped  up  as  he  was  in  graver  matters,  her  sweet  fem 
ininity  began  to  insist  on  a  place  in  his  mental  as  well 
as  his  physical  vision.  She  was  exquisitely  neat  and 
trim  in  her  white  shirt-waist  with  its  low  linen  collar 
and  dark  blue  ribbon  tie  of  the  same  shade  as  her  walk 
ing  skirt,  and  the  smart  little  milliner's  bow  on  her 
French  sailor  hat,  though  it  is  to  be  doubted  if  Gordon 
observed  the  harmony.  She  seemed  strangely  out  of 
place  in  this  room,  so  bare  of  comfort,  so  stuffy  and 
stenchy  and  smoke-filled ;  yet,  after  all,  she  seemed  per 
fectly  at  home  here.  The  man  in  Gordon  awoke,  and 
he  was  glad  she  had  not  stayed  at  home  or  gone  away 
because  she  cried. 

Yes,  Jim  was  there  —  and  swaggering.  It  was  im 
possible  for  Jim  not  to  swagger  a  little  on  any  occasion. 
The  impulse  to  swagger  had  been  born  in  him.  It  had 
been  carefully  nurtured  from  the  date  of  his  first  con 
nection  with  the  Three  Bars.  He  bestowed  an  amiable 
grin  of  recognition  on  the  new  reporter  from  the  far 
side  of  the  room,  which  was  not  very  far. 

The  prisoner  was  brought  in.  His  was  a  familiar 
personality.  He  was  known  to  most  men  west  of  the 
river  —  if  not  by  personal  acquaintance,  certainly  by 
hearsay.  Many  believed  him  to  be  the  animating  mind 
of  a  notorious  gang  of  horse  thieves  and  cattle  rustlers 
[69] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

that  had  been  operating  west  of  the  river  for  several 
years.  Lax  laws  were  their  nourishment.  They  pol 
luted  the  whole.  It  was  a  deadly  taint  to  fasten  itself 
on  men's  relations.  Out  of  it  grew  fear,  bribery,  official 
rottenness,  perjury.  There  was  an  impudent  half  smile 
on  his  lips.  He  was  a  tall,  lean,  slouching-shouldered 
fellow.  To-day,  his  jaws  were  dark  with  beard  bristles 
of  several  days'  standing.  He  bore  himself  with  an  easy, 
indifferent  manner,  and  chewed  tobacco  enjoyingly. 

Louise,  glancing  casually  around  at  the  mass  of  in 
terested,  sunbrowned  faces,  suddenly  gave  a  little  start 
of  surprise.  Not  far  in  front  of  Jimmie  Mac's  table 
stood  the  man  of  the  sandy  coloring  who  had  so  inso 
lently  disputed  their  right  of  way  the  day  before.  His 
hard,  light  eyes,  malignant,  sinister,  significant,  were 
fixed  upon  the  prisoner  as  he  slouched  forward  to  hear 
his  arraignment.  The  man  in  custody  yawned  occasion 
ally.  He  was  bored.  His  whole  body  had  a  lazy  droop. 
So  far  as  Louise  could  make  out  he  gave  no  sign  of 
recognition  of  the  man  of  sandy  coloring. 

Then  came  the  first  great  surprise  of  this  affair  of 
many  surprises.  Jesse  Black  waived  examination.  It 
came  like  a  thunderbolt  to  the  prosecution.  It  was 
not  Black's  way  of  doing  business,  and  it  was  generally 
believed  that,  as  Munson  had  so  forcibly  though  inele 
gantly  expressed  it  to  Billy  Brown,  "  He  would  fight 
like  hell "  to  keep  out  of  the  circuit  courts.  He  would 
kill  this  incipient  Nemesis  in  the  bud.  What,  then,  had 

[70] 


The  Preliminary 

changed  him  ?  The  county  attorney  had  rather  looked 
for  a  hard-fought  defence  —  a.  shifting  of  the  burden 
of  responsibility  for  the  misbranding  to  another,  who 
would,  of  course,  be  off  somewhere  on  a  business  trip,  to 
be  absent  an  indefinite  length  of  time  ;  or  it  might  be 
he  would  try  to  make  good  a  trumped-up  story  that  he 
had  but  lately  purchased  the  animal  from  some  Indian 
cattle-owner  from  up  country  who  claimed  to  have  a 
bill-of-sale  from  Langford.  He  would  not  have  been 
taken  aback  had  Black  calmly  produced  a  bill-of-sale. 

There  were  lines  about  the  young  attorney's  mouth, 
crow's  feet  diverging  from  his  eyes  ;  his  forehead  was 
creased,  too.  He  was  a  tall  man,  slight  of  build,  with 
drooping  shoulders.  One  of  the  noticeable  things  about 
him  was  his  hands.  They  were  beautiful  —  the  long, 
slim,  white  kind  that  attract  attention,  not  so  much, 
perhaps,  on  account  of  their  graceful  lines,  as  because 
they  are  so  seldom  still.  They  belong  preeminently  to 
a  nervous  temperament.  Gordon  had  trained  himself 
to  immobility  of  expression  under  strain,  but  his  hands 
he  had  not  been  able  so  to  discipline.  They  were 
always  at  something,  fingering  the  papers  on  his  desk, 
ruffling  his  hair,  or  noisily  drumming.  Now  he  folded 
them  as  if  to  coerce  them  into  quiet.  He  had  hand 
some  eyes,  also,  too  keen,  maybe,  for  everyday  living ; 
they  would  be  irresistible  if  they  caressed. 

The  absoluteness  of  the  surprise  flushed  his  clean 
shaven  face  a  little,  although  his  grave  immobility  of 

[71] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

expression  underwent  not  a  flicker.  It  was  a  surprise, 
but  it  was  a  good  surprise.  Jesse  Black  was  bound  over 
under  good  and  sufficient  bond  to  appear  at  the  next 
regular  term  of  the  circuit  court  in  December.  That 
much  accomplished,  now  he  could  buckle  down  for  the 
big  fight.  How  often  had  he  been  shipwrecked  in  the 
shifting  sands  of  the  really  remarkable  decisions  of 
"  Old  Necessity "  and  his  kind.  This  time,  as  by  a 
miracle,  he  had  escaped  sands  and  shoals  and  sunken 
rocks,  and  rode  in  deep  water. 

A  wave  of  enlightenment  swept  over  Jim  Munson. 

"  Boss,"  he  whispered,  "  that  gal  reporter  "s  a  hum 
mer." 

"  How  so  ?  "  whispered  Langford,  amused.  He  pro 
ceeded  to  take  an  interested,  if  hasty,  inventory  of  her 
charms.  "  What  a  petite  little  personage,  to  be  sure  ! 
Almost  too  colorless,  though.  Why,  Jim,  she  can't 
hold  a  tallow  candle  to  Williston's  girl." 

"  Who  said  she  could  ?  "  demanded  Jim,  with  a  fine 
scorn  and  much  relieved  to  find  the  Boss  so  unapprecia- 
tive.  Eden  might  not  be  lost  to  them  after  all.  Strict 
justice  made  him  add :  "  But  she 's  a  wise  one.  Spotted 
them  blamed  meddlin'  hoss  thieves  right  from  the  word 
go.  Yep.  That 's  a  fac\" 

"  What  '  blamed  meddlin"  hoss  thieves,"  Jim  ?  You 
are  on  intimate  terms  with  so  many  gentlemen  of  that 
stripe,  —  at  least  your  language  so  leads  us  to  presume, 
—  that  I  can't  keep  up  with  the  procession." 

[72] 


The  Preliminary 

"  At  the  bridge  yistidy.  I  told  you  'bout  it.  Saw 
'em  first  at  the  Bon  Amy  —  but  they  must  a  trailed 
me  to  the  stockyards.  She  spotted  'em  right  away. 
She  's  a  cute  'n.  Made  me  shet  my  mouth  when  I  was 
a  blabbin'  too  much,  jest  before  the  fun  began.  Oh, 
she 's  a  cute  'n  !  " 

"  Who  were  they,  Jim  ?  " 

"  One  of  'em,  I  'm  a  thinkin',  was  Jake  Sanderson,  a 
red-headed  devil  who  came  up  here  from  hell,  I  reckon, 
or  Wyoming,  one  of  the  two.  Nobody  knows  his  biz. 
But  he  '11  look  like  a  stepped-on  potato  bug  'gainst  I 
git  through  with  him.  Did  n't  git  on  to  t'  other 
feller.  Will  next  time,  you  bet !  " 

"  But  what  makes  you  think  they  are  mixed  up  in 
this  affair?" 

"  They  had  their  eyes  on  me  to  see  what  I  was  a  doin' 
in  Velpen.  And  I  was  a  doin'  things,  too." 

Langford  gave  a  long,  low  whistle  of  comprehension. 
That  would  explain  the  unexpected  waiving  of  exami 
nation.  Jesse  Black  knew  the  steer  had  been  recovered 
and  saw  the  futility  of  fighting  against  his  being  bound 
over. 

"Now,  ain't  she  a  hummer?"  insisted  Jim,  admir 
ingly,  but  added  slightingly,  "  Homely,  though,  as  all 
git-out.  Mouse-hair.  Plumb  homely." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think  she  is  plumb  pretty," 
retorted  Langford,  a  laugh  in  his  blue  eyes.  Jim  fairly 
gasped  with  chagrin. 

[73] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Unconcerned,  grinning,  Black  slouched  to  the  door 
and  out.  Once  straighten  out  that  lazy-looking  body 
and  you  would  have  a  big  man  in  Jesse  Black.  Yes, 
a  big  one  and  a  quick  one,  too,  maybe.  The  crowd 
made  way  for  him  unconsciously.  No  one  jostled  him. 
He  was  a  marked  man  from  that  day.  His  lawyer, 
Small,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  radiating  waves  of  self- 
satisfaction  as  though  he  had  but  just  gained  a  dis 
puted  point.  It  was  a  manner  he  affected  when  not  on 
the  floor  in  a  frenzy  of  words  and  muscular  action. 

Jim  Munson  contrived  to  pass  close  by  Jake  San 
derson. 

"  So  you  followed  me  to  find  out  about  Mag,  did 
you  ?  Heap  o'  good  it  did  you  !  We  knew  you  knew," 
he  bragged,  insultingly. 

The  man's  face  went  white  with  wrath. 

"  Damn  you  !  "  he  cried.  His  hand  dropped  to  his 
belt. 

The  two  glared  at  each  other  like  fighting  cocks.  Men 
crowded  around,  suddenly  aware  that  a  quarrel  was  on. 

"  The  Three  Bars  's  a  gittin'  busy  !  "  jeered  Jim. 

"  Come,  Jim,  I  want  you."  It  was  Gordon's  quiet 
voice.  He  laid  a  restraining  hand  on  Munson's  over- 
zealous  arm. 

"  Dick  Gordon,  this  ain't  your  put-in,"  snarled 
Sanderson.  "  Git  out  the  way !  "  He  shoved  him 
roughly  aside.  "  Now,  snappin'  turtle,"  to  Jim,  "  the 
Three  Bars  'd  better  git  busy !  " 

[74] 


The  Preliminary 

A  feint  at  a  blow,  a  clever  little  twist  of  the  feet,  and 
Munson  sprawled  on  the  floor,  men  pressing  back  to 
give  him  the  full  force  of  the  fall.  They  believed  in 
fair  play.  But  Jim,  uncowed,  was  up  with  the  nimble- 
ness  of  a  monkey. 

"  Hit  away  !  "  he  cried,  tauntingly.  "  I  know  'nough 
to  swear  out  a  warrant  'gainst  you  !  'T  won't  be  so 
lonesome  for  Jesse  now  breakin'  stones  over  to  Sioux 
Falls." 

"Jim  ! "  It  was  Gordon's  quiet,  authoritative  voice 
once  more.  "  I  told  you  I  wanted  you."  He  threw 
his  arm  over  the  belligerent's  shoulder. 

"  Comin',  Dick.  I  did  n't  mean  to  blab  so  much," 
Jim  answered,  contritely. 

They  moved  away.     Sanderson  followed  them  up. 

"Dick  Gordon,"  he  said  with  cool  deliberateness, 
"  you  're  too  damned  anxious  to  stick  your  nose  into 
other  people's  affairs.  Learn  your  lesson,  will  you  ? 
My  favorite  stunt  is  to  teach  meddlers  how  to  mind 
their  own  business,  —  this  way." 

It  was  not  a  fair  blow.  Gordon  doubled  up  with  the 
force  of  the  punch  in  his  stomach.  In  a  moment  all 
was  confusion.  Men  drew  their  pistols.  It  looked  as 
if  there  was  to  be  a  free-for-all  fight. 

Langford  sprang  to  his  friend's  aid,  using  his  fists 
with  plentiful  freedom  in  his  haste  to  get  to  him. 

"  Never  mind  me,"  whispered  Gordon.  He  was  lean 
ing  heavily  on  Jim's  shoulder.  His  face  was  pale, 

[75] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

but  he  smiled  reassuringly.  There  was  something 
very  sweet  about  his  mouth  when  he  smiled.  "  Never 
mind  me,"  he  repeated.  "  Get  the  girls  out  of  this  — 
quick,  Paul." 

Mary  and  Louise  had  sought  refuge  behind  the  big 
table. 

"  Quick,  the  back  door  ! "  cried  Langford,  leading  the 
way  ;  and  as  the  three  passed  out,  he  closed  the  door 
behind  them,  saying,  "  You  are  all  right  now.  Run  to 
the  hotel.  I  must  see  how  Dick  is  coming  on." 

"Do  you  think  he  is  badly  hurt?"  asked  Louise. 
"  Can't  we  help  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  had  best  get  out  of  this  as  quickly  as 
you  can.  I  don't  believe  he  is  knocked  out,  by  any 
means,  but  I  want  to  be  on  hand  for  any  future  events 
which  may  be  called.  Just  fly  now,  both  of  you." 

The  unfair  blow  in  the  stomach  had  given  the  sym 
pathy  of  most  of  the  bystanders,  for  the  time  being 
at  least,  to  Gordon.  Men  forgot,  momentarily,  their 
grudge  against  him.  Understanding  from  the  black 
looks  that  he  was  not  in  touch  with  the  crowd,  Sander 
son  laughed  —  a  short  snort  of  contempt  —  and  slipped 
out  of  the  door.  Unable  to  resist  the  impulse,  Jim 
bounded  out  after  his  enemy. 

When    Paul   hastened  around  to  the    front  of  the 

building,  the  crowd  was  nearly  all  in  the  street.     The 

tension  was  relaxed.     A  dazed  expression  prevailed  — 

brought  to  life  by  the  suddenness  with  which  the  affair 

[76] 


The  Preliminary 

tiad  developed  to  such  interesting  proportions  and  the 
quickness  with  which  it  had  flattened  out  to  nothing. 
For  Sanderson  had  disappeared,  completely,  mysteri 
ously,  and  in  all  the  level  landscape,  there  was  no 
srace  of  him  nor  sign. 

"  See  a  balloon,  Jim  ?"  asked  Langford,  slapping  him 
>n  the  shoulder  with  the  glimmer  of  a  smile.  "  Well, 
>7our  red-headed  friend  won't  be  down  in  a  parachute  — 
/et.  Are  you  all  right,  Dick,  old  man  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Where  are  the  girls  ?  " 

"  They  are  all  right.  I  took  them  through  the  back 
loor  and  sent  them  to  the  hotel." 

"  You  kin  bet  on  the  Boss  every  time  when  it  comes 
:o  petticoats,"11  said  Jim,  disconsolately. 

"  Why,  Jim,  what 's  up  ?  "  asked  Langford,  in  amused 
lurprise. 

But  Jim  only  turned  and  walked  away  with  his  head 
n  the  air.  The  serpent  was  leering  at  him. 


[77] 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   COUNTY  ATTORNEY 

""W"   TOO  am  going  to  Wind  City,"  said  a  pleasant 

jj  voice  at  her  side.  "  You  will  let  me  help  you 
with  your  things,  will  you  not  ?  " 

The  slender  girl  standing  before  the  ticket  window, 
stuffing  change  into  her  coin  purse,  turned  quickly. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Gordon,1'  she  said,  holding  out  a  small 
hand  with  frank  pleasure.  "  How  very  nice !  Thank 
you,  will  you  take  my  rain-coat  ?  It  has  been  such  a 
bother.  I  would  bring  it  right  in  the  face  of  Uncle 
Hammond's  objections.  He  said  it  never  rained  out 
this  way.  But  I  surely  have  suffered  a  plenty  for  my 
waywardness.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  It  behooves  a  tenderfoot  like  you  to  sit  and  dili 
gently  learn  of  such  experienced  and  toughened  old- 
timers  as  we  are,  rather  than  flaunt  your  untried  ideas 
in  our  faces,"  responded  Gordon,  with  a  smile  that 
transformed  the  keen  gray  eyes  of  this  man  of  much 
labor,  much  lofty  ambition,  and  much  sorrow,  so  that 
they  seemed  for  the  moment  strangely  young,  laughing, 
untroubled ;  as  clear  of  taint  of  evil  knowledge  as  the 
source  of  a  stream  leaping  joyously  into  the  sunlight 

[78] 


The  County  Attorney 

from  some  mountain  solitude.     It  was  a  revelation  to 
Louise. 

"I  will  try  to  be  a  good  and  diligent  seeker  after 
knowledge  of  this  strange  land  of  yours,"  she  answered, 
with  a  little  laugh  half  of  embarrassment,  half  of  enjoy 
ment  of  this  play  of  nonsense,  and  leading  the  way  to 
her  suit-case  and  Mary  outside.  "  When  I  make  mis 
takes,  will  you  tell  me  about  them  ?  Down  East,  you 
know,  our  feet  travel  in  the  ancient,  prescribed  circles 
of  our  forefathers,  and  they  are  apt  to  go  somewhat 
uncertainly  if  thrust  into  new  paths."" 

And  this  laughing,  clever  girl  had  cried  with  home 
sickness  !  Well,  no  wonder.  The  worst  of  it  was,  she 
could  never  hope  to  be  acclimated.  She  was  not  — 
their  kind.  Sooner  or  later  she  must  go  back  to  God's 
country. 

To  her  surprise,  Gordon,  though  he  laughed  softly 
for  a  moment,  answered  rather  gravely. 

"  If  my  somewhat  niggardly  fate  should  grant  me 
that  good  fortune,  thab  I  may  do  something  for  you,  I 
ask  that  you  be  not  afraid  to  trust  to  my  help.  It 
would  not  be  half-hearted  —  I  assure  you." 

She  looked  up  at  him  gratefully.  His  shoulders, 
slightly  stooped,  betokening  the  grind  at  college  and 
the  burden-bearing  in  later  years,  instead  of  suggesting 
any  inherent  weakness  in  the  man,  rather  inspired  her 
with  an  intuitive  faith  in  their  quiet,  unswerving,  utter 
i  trustworthiness. 

[79] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  simply.  "I  am  so  glad  they 
did  not  hurt  you  much  that  day  in  the  court-room. 
We  worried  —  Mary  and  I." 

"Thank  you.  There  was  not  the  least  danger. 
They  were  merely  venting  their  spite  on  me.  They 
would  not  have  dared  more.1' 

There  is  always  a  crowd  at  the  Velpen  station  for 
outgoing  or  incoming  trains.  This  meeting  of  trains  is 
one  of  the  dissipations  of  its  people  —  and  an  eminently 
respectable  dissipation.  It  was  early  —  the  eastbound 
leaves  at  something  past  eight  —  yet  there  were  many 
people  on  the  platform  who  did  not  seem  to  be  going 
anywhere.  They  were  after  such  stray  worms  as  always 
fall  to  the  lot  of  the  proverbial  early  bird.  The  par 
ticular  worm  in  question  that  morning  was  the  new  girl 
court  reporter,  homeward  bound.  Many  were  making 
the  excuse  of  mailing  belated  letters.  Mary  was  stand 
ing  guard  over  the  suit-case  and  umbrella  near  the  last 
car.  She  seemed  strangely  alone  and  aloof  standing 
there,  the  gravity  of  the  silent  prairie  a  palpable  atmos 
phere  about  her. 

"  There 's  my  brakeman,"  said  Louise,  when  she  and 
Gordon  had  found  a  seat  near  the  rear.  Mary  had 
gone  and  a  brakeman  had  swung  onto  the  last  car  as 
it  glided  past  the  platform,  and  came  down  the  aisle 
with  a  grin  of  recognition  for  his  "  little  white  lamb.'1 

"How  nice  it  all  seems,  just  as  if  I  had  been  gone 
months  instead  of  days  and  was  coming  home  again.  It 

[80] 


The  County  Attorney 

would  be  funny  if  I  should  be  homesick  for  the  range 
when  I  get  to  Wind  City,  would  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Let  us  pray  assiduously  that  it  may  be  so,"  an 
swered  Gordon,  with  one  of  his  rare  smiles.  He  busied 
himself  a  moment  in  stowing  away  her  belongings  to 
the  best  advantage.  "  It  gets  in  one's  blood,  —  how  or 
when,  one  never  knows." 

They  rode  in  silence  for  a  while. 

"  Tell  me  about  your  big  fight,"  said  Louise,  pres 
ently.  The  road-bed  was  fairly  good,  and  they  were 
spinning  along  on  a  down  grade.  He  must  needs  bend 
closer  to  hear  her. 

She  was  good  to  look  at,  fair  and  sweet,  and  it  had 
been  weary  years  since  women  had  come  close  to  Gor 
don's  life.  In  the  old  college  days,  before  this  hard, 
disappointing,  unequal  fight  against  the  dominant 
forces  of  greed,  against  tolerance  of  might  overcoming 
right,  had  begun  to  sap  his  vitality,  he  had  gone  too 
deeply  into  his  studies  to  have  much  time  left  for  the 
gayeties  and  gallantries  of  the  social  side  in  university 
life.  He  had  not  been  popular  with  women.  They 
did  not  know  him.  Yet,  though  dubbed  a  "  dig "  by 
bis  fellow-collegians,  the  men  liked  him.  They  liked 
him  for  his  trustworthiness,  admired  him  for  his  rugged 
honesty,  desired  his  friendship  for  the  inspiration  of  his 
high  ideals. 

The  memory  of  these  friendships  with  men  had  been 
an  ever-present  source  of  strength  and  comfort  to  him 
«  [  81  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

in  these  later  years  of  his  busy  life.  Yet  of  late  he 
had  felt  himself  growing  calloused  and  tired.  The 
enthusiasm  of  his  younger  manhood  was  falling  from 
him  somewhat,  and  he  had  been  but  six  years  out  of 
the  university.  But  it  was  all  so  hopeless,  so  bitterly 
futile,  this  moral  fight  of  one  man  to  stay  the  mind- 
bewildering  and  heart-sickening  ceaseless  round  of 
wheels  of  open  crime  and  official  chicanery.  Was  the 
river  bridged  ?  And  what  of  the  straw  ?  His  name 
was  a  joke  in  the  cattle  country,  a  joke  to  horse  thief, 
a  joke  to  sheriff.  Its  synonyme  was  impotency  among 
the  law-abiders  who  were  yet  political  cowards.  What 
was  the  use  ?  What  could  a  man  do  —  one  man,  when 
a  fair  jury  was  a  dream,  when  ballots  were  so  folded 
that  the  clerk,  drawing,  might  know  which  to  select  in 
order  to  obtain  a  jury  that  would  stand  pat  with  the 
cattle  rustlers  ?  Much  brain  and  brawn  had  been 
thrown  away  in  the  unequal  struggle.  Let  it  pass. 
Was  there  any  further  use? 

Then  a  woman  came  to  him  in  his  dark  hour.  His 
was  a  stubborn  and  fighting  blood,  a  blood  that  would 
never  cry  "  enough  "  till  it  ceased  to  flow.  Yet  what  a 
comforting  thing  it  was  that  this  woman,  Louise,  should 
be  beside  him,  this  woman  who  knew  and  who  under 
stood.  For  when  she  lifted  those  tender  gray  eyes  and 
asked  him  of  his  big  fight,  he  knew  she  understood. 
There  was  no  need  of  explanation,  of  apology,  for 
all  the  failure  of  all  these  years.  A  warm  gratitude 

[83] 


The  County  Attorney 

swept  across  his  heart.  And  she  was  so  neat  and  sweet 
and  fair,  unspoiled  by  constant  contact  with,  and  inti 
mate  knowledge  of,  the  life  of  the  under  world  ;  rather 
was  she  touched  to  a  wonderful  sympathy  of  under 
standing.  It  was  good  to  know  such  a  woman  ;  it  would 
be  better  to  be  a  friend  of  such  a  woman ;  it  would  be 
best  of  all  to  love  such  a  woman  —  if  one  dared. 

«  What  shall  I  talk  about,  Miss  Dale  ?  It  is  all 
very  prosaic  and  uninteresting,  1 1m  afraid ;  shockingly 
primitive,  glaringly  new.'1 

"  I  breakfasted  with  a  stanch  friend  of  yours  this 
morning,"  answered  Louise,  somewhat  irrelevantly. 
She  had  a  feeling  —  a  woman's  feeling  —  that  this 
earnest,  hard-working,  reserved  man  would  never 
blurt  out  things  about  himself  with  the  bland  self- 
centredness  of  most  men.  She  must,  use  all  her 
woman's  wit  to  draw  him  out.  She  did  not  know  yet 
that  he  was  starved  for  sympathy  — r  for  understand 
ing.  She  could  not  know  yet  that  two  affinities  had 
drifted  through  space  —  near  together.  A  feathery 
zephyr,  blowing  where  it  listed,  might  widen  the  space 
between  to  an  infinity  of  distance  so  that  they  might 
never  know  how  nearly  they  had  once  met ;  or  it 
might,  as  its  whim  dictated,  blow  them  together  so  that 
for  weal  or  for  woe  they  would  know  each  the  other. 

"  Mrs.  Higgins,  at  the  Bon  Ami,"  she  continued, 
smiling.  "  I  was  so  hungry  when  we  got  to  Velpen, 
though  I  had  eaten  a  tremendous  breakfast  at  the 
[83] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Lazy  S.  But  five  o'clock  is  an  unholy  hour  at  which 
to  eat  one's  breakfast,  is  n't  it,  and  I  just  could  n't  help 
getting  hungry  all  over  again.  So  I  persuaded  Mary 
to  stop  for  another  cup  of  coffee.  It  is  ridiculous  the 
way  I  eat  in  your  country." 

"  It  is  a  good  country,"  he  said,  soberly. 

"  It  must  be  —  if  you  can  say  so." 

"  Because  I  have  failed,  shall  I  cry  out  that  law 
cannot  be  enforced  in  Kemah  County  ?  Sometimes  — 
may  it  be  soon  —  there  will  come  a  man  big  enough  to 
make  the  law  triumphant.  He  will  not  be  I." 

He  was  still  smarting  from  his  many  set-backs.  He 
had  worked  hard  and  had  accomplished  nothing.  At 
the  last  term  of  court,  though  many  cases  were  tried, 
he  had  not  secured  one  conviction. 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  Louise,  softly.  Her  look, 
straight  into  his  eyes,  was  a  glint  of  sunlight  in  dark 
places.  Then  she  laughed. 

"  Mrs.  Higgins  said  to  me  :  '  Jimmie  Mac  hain't  got 
the  sense  he  was  born  with.  His  little,  dried-up  brain  'd 
rattle  'round  in  a  mustard  seed  and  he's  gettin'  shet  o' 
that  little  so  fast  it  makes  my  head  swim.'  She  was 
telling  about  times  when  he  had  n't  acted  just  fair  to 
you.  I  am  glad  —  from  all  I  hear  —  that  this  was 
taken  out  of  his  hands." 

"  I  can  count  my  friends,  the  real  ones,  on  one  hand, 
I  'm  afraid,"  said  Gordon,  with  a  good-humored  smile ; 
"  and  Mrs.  Higgins  surely  is  the  thumb." 
[84] 


The  County  Attorney 

"  I  am  glad  you  smiled,"  said  Louise.  "  That  would 
have  sounded  so  bitter  if  you  had  not." 

"  I  could  n't  help  smiling.  You  —  you  have  such  a 
way,  Miss  Dale." 

It  was  blunt  but  it  rang  true. 

"It  is  true,  though,  about  my  friends.  If  I  could 
convict  —  Jesse  Black,  for  instance, —  a  million  friends 
would  call  me  blessed.  But  I  can't  do  it  alone.  They 
will  not  do  it ;  they  will  not  help  me  do  it ;  they 
despise  me  because  I  can't  do  it,  and  swear  at  me 
because  I  try  to  do  it  —  and  there  you  have  the  whole 
situation  in  a  nutshell,  Miss  Dale." 

The  sun  struck  across  her  face.  He  reached  over 
and  lowered  the  blind. 

"  Thank  you.  But  it  is  '  Vantage  in  '  now,  is  it  not  ? 
You  will  get  justice  before  Uncle  Hammond." 

Unconsciously  his  shoulders  straightened. 

"Yes,  Miss  Dale,  it  is  'Vantage  in.'  One  of  two 
things  will  come  to  pass.  I  shall  send  Jesse  Black  over 
or  — "  he  paused.  His  eyes,  unseeing,  were  fixed  on 
the  gliding  landscape  as  it  appeared  in  rectangular 
spots  through  the  window  in  front  of  them. 

"  Yes.     Or  —  "  prompted  Louise,  softly. 

"  Never  mind.  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  he  said, 
abruptly.  "  No  fear  of  Judge  Dale.  Juries  are  my 
Waterloo." 

"  Is  it,  then,  such  a  nest  of  cowards  ?  "  cried  Louise, 
intense  scorn  in  her  clear  voice. 
[85] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  Yes,"  deliberately.  "  Men  are  afraid  of  retaliation 
—  those  who  are  not  actually  blood-guilty,  as  you 
might  say.  And  who  can  say  who  is  and  who  is  not  ? 
But  he  will  be  sent  over  this  time.  Paul  Langford  is 
on  his  trail.  Give  me  two  men  like  Langford  and  that 
anachronism  —  an  honest  man  west  of  the  river  — 
Williston,  and  you  can  have  the  rest,  sheriff  and  all.1" 

"  Mr.  Williston  —  he  has  been  unfortunate,  has  he 
not?  He  is  such  a  gentleman,  and  a  scholar,  surely."" 

"  Surely.  He  is  one  of  the  finest  fellows  I  know. 
A  man  of  the  most  sensitive  honor.  If  such  a  thing 
can  be,  I  should  say  he  is  too  honest,  for  his  own 
good.  A  man  can  be,  you  know.  There  is  nothing  in 
the  world  that  cannot  be  overdone.11 

She  looked  at  him  earnestly.  His  eyes  did  not  shift. 
She  was  satisfied. 

"Your  work  belies  your  words,11  she  said,  quietly. 

Dust  and  cinders  drifted  in  between  the  slats  of 
the  closed  blind.  Putting  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips, 
Louise  looked  at  the  dark  streaks  on  it  with  reproach. 

"Your  South  Dakota  dirt  is  so  —  black,11  she  said, 
whimsically. 

"  Better  black  than  yellow,11  he  retorted.  "  It  looks 
cleaner,  now,  does  n't  it  ?  n 

"  Maybe  you  think  my  home  a  fit  dwelling  place  for 
John  Chinaman,11  pouted  Louise. 

"  Yes  —  if  that  will  persuade  you  that  South  Dakota 
is  infinitely  better.  Are  you  open  to  conviction  ?  " 

[86] 


The  County  Attorney 

66  Never  !     I  should  die  if  I  had  to  stay  here." 

"  You  will  be  going  back  —  soon  ?  " 

"  Some  day,  sure !  Soon  ?  Maybe.  Oh,  I  wish  I 
could.  That  part  of  me  which  is  like  Uncle  Hammond 
says,  '  Stay.'  But  that  other  part  of  me  which  is  like 
the  rest  of  us,  says,  '  What 's  the  use  ?  Go  back  to 
your  kind.  You  're  happier  there.  Why  should  you 
want  to  be  different  ?  What  does  it  all  amount  to  ? ' 
I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  weak  enough  and  foolish  enough 
to  go  back  and  —  stay." 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  forward  part  of  the  car.  A 
man,  hitherto  sitting  quietly  by  the  side  of  an  alert 
wiry  little  fellow  who  sat  next  the  aisle,  had  attempted 
to  bolt  the  car  by  springing  over  the  empty  seat  in 
front  of  him  and  making  a  dash  for  the  door.  It  was 
daring,  but  in  vain.  His  companion,  as  agile  as  he, 
had  seized  him  and  forced  him  again  into  his  place 
before  the  rest  of  the  passengers  fully  understood  that 
the  attempt  had  really  been  made. 

"  Is  he  crazy  ?  Are  they  taking  him  to  Yankton  ?  " 
asked  Louise,  the  pretty  color  all  gone  from  her  face. 
"  Did  he  think  to  jump  off  the  train  ?  " 

"That's  John  Yellow  Wolf,  a  young  half-breed. 
He 's  wanted  up  in  the  Hills  for  cattle-rustling  — 
United  States  Court  case.  That 's  Johnson  with  him, 
Deputy  United  States  Marshal." 

"  Poor  fellow,"  said  Louise,  pityingly. 

"  Don't  waste  your  sympathy  on  such  as  he.  They 
[87] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

are  degenerates  —  many  of  these  half-breeds.  They 
will  swear  to  anything.  They  inherit  all  the  evils  of 
the  two  races.  Good  never  mixes.  Yellow  Wolf  would 
swear  himself  into  everlasting  torment  for  a  pint  of 
whiskey.  You  see  my  cause  of  complaint  ?  But  never 
think,  Miss  Dale,  that  these  poor  chaps  of  half-breeds, 
who  are  hardly  responsible,  are  the  only  ones  who  are 
willing  to  swear  to  damnable  lies."''  There  was  a  tang  of 
bitterness  in  his  voice.  "Perjury,  Miss  Dale,  perjury 
through  fear  of  bribery  or  self-interest,  God  knows 
what,  it  is  there  I  must  break,  I  suppose,  until  the 
day  of  judgment,  unless  —  I  run  away." 

Louise,  through  all  the  working  of  his  smart  and 
sting,  felt  the  quiet  reserve  strength  of  this  man  be 
side  her,  and,  with  a  quick  rush  of  longing  to  do 
her  part,  her  woman's  part  of  comforting  and  healing, 
she  put  her  hand,  small,  ungloved,  on  his  rough  coat 
sleeve. 

"Is  that  what  you  meant  a  while  ago?  But  you 
don't  mean  it,  do  you?  It  is  bitter  and  you  do  not 
mean  it.  Tell  me  that  you  do  not  mean  it,  Mr.  Gordon, 
please,11  she  said,  impulsively. 

Smothering  a  wild  impulse  to  keep  the  hand  where 
it  had  lain  such  a  brief,  palpitating  while,  Gordon 
remained  silent.  God  only  knows  what  human  longing 
he  crushed  down,  what  intense  discouragement,  what 
sick  desire  to  lay  down  his  thankless  task  and  flee  to 
the  uttermost  parts  of  the  world  to  be  away  from  the 

[88] 


The  County  Attorney 

crying  need  he  yet  could  not  still.  Then  he  answered 
simply,  "  I  did  not  mean  it,  Miss  Dale." 

And  then  there  did  not  seem  to  be  anything  to  say 
between  them  for  a  long  while.  The  half-breed  had 
settled  down  with  stolid  indifference.  People  had  re 
sumed  their  newspapers  and  magazines  and  day  dreams 
after  the  fleeting  excitement.  It  was  very  warm. 
Louise  tried  to  create  a  little  breeze  by  flicking  her 
somewhat  begrimed  handkerchief  in  front  of  her  face. 
Gordon  took  a  newspaper  from  his  pocket,  folded  it  and 
fanned  her  gently.  He  was  not  used  to  the  little  graces 
of  life,  perhaps,  but  he  did  this  well.  An  honest  man 
and  a  kindly  never  goes  far  wrong  in  any  direction. 

"  You  must  not  think,  Miss  Dale,"  he  said,  seriously, 
"  that  it  is  all  bad  up  here.  I  am  only  selfish.  I  have 
been  harping  on  my  own  little  corner  of  wickedness  all 
the  while.  It  is  a  good  land.  It  will  be  better  before 
long/' 

"  When  ?"  asked  Louise. 

"  When  we  convict  Jesse  Black  and  when  our  Indian 
neighbors  get  over  their  mania  for  divorce,"  he  answered, 
laughing  softly. 

Louise  laughed  merrily  and  so  the  journey  ended  as 
it  had  begun,  with  a  laugh  and  a  jest. 

In  the  Judge's  runabout,  Louise  held  out  her  hand. 

"  I  'm  almost  homesick,"  she  cried,  smiling. 


[89] 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  LAZY  S 

IT  was  late.  The  August  night  was  cool  and  sweet 
after  a  weary  day  of  intense  heat.  The  door  was 
thrown  wide  open.  It  was  good  to  feel  the  night 
air  creeping  into  the  stifling  room.  There  was  no  light 
within ;  and  without,  nothing  but  the  brilliant  stars  in 
the  quiet,  brooding  sky.  Williston  was  sitting  just 
within  the  doorway.  Mary,  her  hands  clasped  idly 
around  her  knees,  sat  on  the  doorstep,  thoughtfully 
staring  out  into  the  still  darkness.  There  was  a  stir. 

"  Bedtime,  little  girl,"  said  Williston. 

"  Just  a  minute  more,  daddy.  Must  we  have  a  light  ? 
Think  how  the  mosquitoes  will  swarm.  Let 's  go  to  bed 
in  the  dark." 

"  We  will  shut  the  door  and  next  Summer,  little  girl, 
you  shall  have  your  screens.  I  promise  you  that,  always 
providing,  of  course,  Jesse  Black  leaves  us  alone." 

Had  it  not  been  so  dark,  Mary  could  have  seen  the 
wistful  smile  on  the  thin,  scholarly  face.  But  though 
she  could  not  see  it,  she  knew  it  was  there.  There  had 
been  fairer  hopes  and  more  generous  promises  in  the 
past  few  years.  They  had  all  gone  the  dreary  way  of 
impotent  striving,  of  bitter  disappointment.  There 

[  90  ] 


The  Attack  on  the  Lazy  S 

was  little  need  of  light  for  Mary  to  read  her  father's 
thoughts. 

"Sure,  daddy,"  she  answered,  cheerily.  "And  I'll 
see  that  you  don't  forget.  As  for  Jesse  Black,  he 
would  n't  dare  with  the  Three  Bars  on  his  trail.  Well, 
if  you  must  have  a  light,  you  must,"  rising  and  stretch 
ing  her  firm-fleshed  young  arms  far  over  her  head. 
"You  can't  forget  you  were  born  in  civilization,  can 
you,  daddy  ?  I  am  sure  I  could  be  your  man  in  the 
dark,  if  you  'd  let  me,  and  I  always  turn  your  night 
shirt  right  side  out  before  hanging  it  on  your  bedpost, 
and  your  sheet  and  spread  are  turned  down,  and  water 
right  at  hand.  You  funny,  funny  little  father,  who 
can't  go  to  bed  in  the  dark."  She  was  rummaging 
around  a  shelf  in  search  of  matches,  "Now,  I  have 
forgotten  long  since  that  I  was  n't  born  on  the  plains. 
It  would  n't  hurt  me  if  I  had  misplaced  my  nightdress. 
I  've  done  it,"  with  a  gay  little  laugh.  He  must  be 
cheered  up  at  all  costs,  this  buffeted  and  disappointed 
|ibut  fine-minded,  high-strung,  and  lovable  father  of  hers. 
"And  I  haven't  taken  my  hair  down  nights  since — oh, 
since  months  ago,  till  —  oh,  well  —  so  you  see  it's 
easy  enough  for  me  to  go  to  bed  in  the  dark." 

Her  hand  touched  the  match  box  at  last.     A  light 

red  out. 

"Shut  the  door  quick,  dad,"  she  said,  lighting  the 
lamp  on  the  table.  "  The  skeeters  '11  eat  us  alive." 

Williston  stepped  to  the  door.  Just  a  moment  he 
[91] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

stood  there  in  the  doorway,  the  light  streaming  out 
into  the  night,  tall,  thoughtful,  no  weakling  in  spite  of 
many  failures  and  many  mistakes.  A  fair  mark  he 
made,  outlined  against  the  brightly  lighted  room.  It 
was  quiet.  Not  even  a  coyote  shrilled.  And  while  he 
stood  there  looking  up  at  the  calm  stars,  a  sudden 
sharp  report  rang  out  and  the  sacred  peace  of  God, 
written  in  the  serenity  of  still  summer  nights,  was 
desecrated.  Hissing  and  ominous,  the  bullet  sang  past 
Williston's  head,  perilously  near,  and  lodged  in  the 
opposite  wall.  At  that  moment,  the  light  was  blown 
out.  A  great  presence  of  mind  had  come  to  Mary  in 
the  time  of  imminent  danger. 

"  Good,  my  dear ! "  cried  Williston,  in  low  tones. 
Quick  as  a  flash,  the  door  was  slammed  shut  and  bolted 
just  as  a  second  shot  fell  foul  of  it. 

"  Oh,  my  father ! "  cried  Mary,  groping  her  way  to 
his  side. 

"  Hush,  my  dear !  They  missed  me  clean.  Don't 
lose  your  nerve,  Mary.  They  wont  find  it  so  easy 
after  all." 

There  had  been  no  third  shot.  A  profound  silence 
followed  the  second  report.  There  was  no  sound  of 
horse  or  man.  Whence,  then,  the  shots?  One  man, 
maybe,  creeping  up  like  some  foul  beast  of  prey  to 
strike  in  the  dark.  Was  he  still  lurking  near,  abiding 
another  opportunity? 

It  took  but  a  moment  for  Williston  to  have  the  rifles 
[92] 


The  Attack  on  the  Lazy  S 

cocked  and  ready.     Mary  took  her  own  from  him  with 
a  hand  that  trembled  ever  so  slightly. 

"  What  will  you  do,  father  ?  "  she  asked,  holding  her 
rifle  lovingly  and  thanking  God  in  a  swift,  unformed 
thought  for  every  rattlesnake  or  other  noxious  creature 
whose  life  she  had  put  out  while  doing  her  man's  work 
of  riding  the  range,  —  work  which  had  given  her  not 
only  a  man's  courage  but  a  man's  skill  as  well. 

"  Take  the  back  window,  girl,"  he  answered,  briefly. 
"  I  '11  take  the  front.  Stand  to  the  side.  Get  used  to 
the  starlight  and  shoot  every  shadow  you  see,  especially 
if  it  moves.  Keep  track  of  your  shots,  don't  waste  an 
effort  and  don't  let  anything  creep  up  on  you.  They 
must  n't  get  near  enough  to  fire  the  house." 

His  voice  was  sharp  and  incisive.  The  drifting  habit 
had  fallen  from  him,  and  he  was  his  own  master  again. 

Several  heavy  minutes  dragged  away  without  move 
ment,  without  sound  from  without.  The  ticking  of  the 
clock  pressed  on  strained  ears  like  ghastly  bell-tolling. 
Their  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  darkness  and,  by 
the  dim  starlight,  they  were  able  to  distinguish  the 
outlines  of  the  cattle-sheds,  still,  empty,  black.  Noth 
ing  moved  out  there. 

"I  think  they're  frightened  off,"  said  Mary  at  last, 
breathing  more  freely.  "  They  were  probably  just  one, 
or  they  'd  not  have  left.  He  knew  he  missed  you,  or 
he  would  not  have  fired  again.  Do  you  think  it  was 
Jesse?" 

[93] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  Jesse  would  not  have  missed,"  he  said,  grimly. 

At  that  moment,  a  new  sound  broke  the  stillness, 
the  whinny  of  a  horse.  Reinforcement  had  approached 
within  the  shadow  of  the  cattle-sheds.  Something 
moved  out  there  at  last. 

44  Daddy  ! "  called  Mary,  in  a  choked  whisper.  "Come 
here  —  they  are  down  at  the  sheds.1' 

Williston  stepped  to  the  back  window  quickly. 

"  Change  places/'  he  said,  briefly. 

44  Daddy ! " 

44  Yes?" 

44  Keep  up  your  nerve,"  she  breathed  between  great 
heart-pumps. 

44  Surely  !  Do  you  the  same,  little  comrade,  and  shoot 
to  kill." 

There  was  a  savage  note  in  his  last  words.  For 
himself,  it  did  not  matter  so  much,  but  Mary  —  he 
pinned  no  false  faith  in  any  thought  of  possible  chival 
rous  intent  on  the  part  of  the  raiders  to  exempt  his 
daughter  from  the  grim  fate  that  awaited  him.  He 
had  to  deal  with  a  desperate  man ;  there  would  be  no 
clemency  in  this  desperate  man's  retaliation. 

To  his  quickened  hearing  came  the  sound  of  stealthy 
creeping.  Something  moved  directly  in  front  of  him, 
but  some  distance  away.  44  Shoot  every  shadow  you 
see,  especially  if  it  moves,"  were  the  fighting  orders,  and 
his  was  the  third  shot  of  that  night. 

44  Hell  1  I  Ve  got  it  in  the  leg !  "  cried  a  rough  voice. 
[94] 


The  Attack  on  the  Lazy  S 

full  of  intense  anger  and  pain,  and  there  were  sounds  of 
a  precipitate  retreat. 

Out  under  protection  of  the  long  row  of  low-built 
sheds,  other  orders  were  being  tersely  given  and  silently 
received. 

"Now,  men,  I'll  shoot  the  first  man  of  you  who 
blubbers  when  he "s  hit.  D1  ye  hear  ?  There  have 
been  breaks  enough  in  this  affair  already.  I  don't 
intend  for  that  petticoat  man  and  his  pulin1  petticoat 
kid  in  there  to  get  any  satisfaction  out  o1  this  at  all. 
Hear  me  ?  " 

There  was  no  response.     None  was  needed. 

Some  shots  found  harmless  lodgment  in  the  outer 
walls  of  the  shanty.  They  were  the  result  of  an  un 
availing  attempt  to  pick  the  window  whence  Williston's 
shot  had  come.  Mary  could  not  keep  back  a  little 
womanish  gasp  of  nervous  dread. 

"  Grip  your  nerve,  Mary,"  said  her  father.  "  That 's 
nothing  —  shooting  from  down  there.  Just  lie  low  and 
they  can  do  nothing.  Only  watch,  child,  watch  !  They 
must  not  creep  up  on  us.  Oh,  for  a  moon  !  " 

She  did  grip  her  nerve,  and  her  hand  ceased  its 
trembling.  In  the  darkness,  her  eyes  were  big  and 
solemn.  Sometime,  to-morrow,  the  reaction  would 
come,  but  to-night  — 

"  Yes,  father,  keep  up  your  own  nerve,*11  she  said,  in 
a  brave  little  voice  that  made  the  man  catch  his  breath 
in  a  sob. 

[95] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Again  the  heavy  minutes  dragged  away.  At  each 
of  the  two  windows  crouched  a  tense  figure,  brain  alert, 
eyes  in  iron  control.  It  was  a  frightful  strain,  this 
waiting  game.  Could  one  be  sure  nothing  had  escaped 
one's  vigilance  ?  Starlight  was  deceptive,  and  one's  eyes 
must  needs  shift  to  keep  the  mastery  over  their  little 
horizon.  It  might  well  be  that  some  one  of  those 
ghostly  and  hidden  sentinels  patrolling  the  lonely 
homestead  had  wormed  himself  past  staring  eyeballs, 
crawling,  crawling,  crawling ;  it  might  well  be  that  at 
any  moment  a  sudden  light  flaring  up  from  some 
corner  would  tell  the  tale  of  the  end. 

Now  and  then  could  be  heard  the  soft  thud  of  a  hoof 
as  some  one  rode  to  execute  an  order.  Occasionally, 
something  moved  out  by  the  sheds.  Such  movement, 
if  discernible  from  the  house,  was  sure  to  be  followed 
on  the  instant  by  a  quick  sharp  remonstrance  from 
Williston's  rifle.  How  long  could  it  last  ?  Would  his 
nerve  wear  away  with  the  night  ?  Could  he  keep  his 
will  dominant  ?  If  so,  he  must  drag  his  mind  resolutely 
away  from  that  nerve-racking,  still,  and  unseen  creeping, 
creeping,  creeping,  nearer  and  nearer.  How  the  still 
ness  weighed  upon  him,  and  still  his  mind  dwelt  upon 
that  sinuous,  flat-bellied  creeping,  crawling,  worming ! 
God,  it  was  awful !  He  fought  it  desperately.  He 
knew  he  was  lost  if  he  could  not  stop  thinking  about 
it.  The  sweat  came  out  in  big  beads  on  his  forehead, 
on  his  body  ;  he  prickled  with  the  heat  of  the  effort. 

[96] 


The  Attack  on  the  Lazy  S 

Then  it  left  him  — the  awful  horror  —  left  him  curi 
ously  cold,  but  steady  of  nerve  and  with  a  will  of  iron 
and  eyes,  cat's  eyes,  for  their  seeing  in  the  dark.  Now 
that  he  was  calm  once  more,  he  let  himself  weigh  the 
chances  of  succor.  They  were  pitifully  remote.  The 
Lazy  S  was  situated  in  a  lonely  stretch  of  prairie  land 
far  from  any  direct  trail.  True,  it  lay  between  Kemah, 
the  county  seat,  and  the  Three  Bars  ranch,  but  it  was 
a  good  half  mile  from  the  straight  route.  Even  so,  it 
was  a  late  hour  for  any  one  to  be  passing  by.  It  was 
not  a  travelled  trail  except  for  the  boys  of  the  Three 
Bars,  and  they  were  known  to  be  great  home-stayers 
and  little  given  to  spreeing.  As  for  the  rustlers,  if 
rustlers  they  were,  they  had  no  fear  of  interruption  by 
the  officers  of  the  law,  who  held  their  places  by  virtue 
of  the  insolent  and  arbitrary  will  of  Jesse  Black  and 
his  brotherhood,  and  were  now  carousing  in  Kemah  by 
virtue  of  the  hush-money  put  up  by  this  same  Secret 
Tribunal. 

Yet  now  that  Williston's  head  was  clear,  he  realized, 
with  strengthening  confidence  in  the  impregnability  of 
their  position,  that  two  trusty  rifles  behind  barred 
doors  are  not  so  bad  a  defence  after  all,  especially  when 
one  took  into  consideration  that,  with  the  exception  of 
the  sheds  overlooking  which  he  had  chosen  his  position 
as  the  point  of  greatest  menace,  and  a  small  clump  of 
half-grown  cottonwoods  by  the  spring  which  Mary 
commanded  from  her  window,  there  were  no  hiding 
7  [  97  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

places  to  be  utilized  for  this  Indian  mode  of  warfare. 
He  could  not  know  how  many  desperadoes  there  were, 
but  he  reasoned  well  when  he  confided  in  his  belief  that 
they  would  not  readily  trust  themselves  to  the  too 
dangerous  odds  of  the  open  space  between.  An  open 
attack  was  not  probable.  Vigilance,  then,  a  never- 
lapsing  vigilance  that  they  be  not  surprised,  was  the 
price  of  their  salvation.  What  human  power  could  do, 
he  would  do,  and  trust  Mary  to  do  the  same.  She  was 
a  good  girl  and  true.  She  would  do  well.  She  had 
not  yet  shot.  Surely,  they  would  make  use  of  that 
good  vantage  ground  of  the  cottonwood  clump.  Prob 
ably  they  were  even  now  making  a  detour  to  reach  it. 

"  Watch,  child,  watch  ! "  he  said  again,  without  in  the 
least  shifting  his  tense  position. 

"  Surely  !  "  responded  Mary,  quite  steadily. 

Now  was  her  time  come.  Dark,  sinister  figures  flitted 
from  tree  to  tree.  At  first,  she  could  not  be  sure,  it 
was  so  heartlessly  dark,  but  there  was  movement  —  it 
was  different  from  that  terrible  blank  quiet  which  she 
had  hitherto  been  gazing  upon  till  her  eyes  burned  and 
pricked  as  with  needle  points,  and  visionary  things 
swam  before  them.  She  winked  rapidly  to  dispel  the 
unreal  and  floating  things,  opened  wide  her  longlashed 
lids,  fixed  them,  and  —  fired.  Then  Williston  knew 
that  his  "little  girl,"  his  one  ewe  lamb,  all  that  was 
left  to  him  of  a  full  and  gracious  past,  must  go  through 
what  he  had  gone  through,  all  that  nameless  horror 

[98] 


The  Attack  on  the  Lazy  S 


and  expectant  dread,  and  his  heart  cried  out  at  the 
unholy  injustice  of  it  all.  He  dared  not  go  to  her, 
dared  not  desert  his  post  for  an  instant.  If  one  got 
within  the  shadow  of  the  walls,  all  was  lost. 

Mary's  challenge  was  met  with  a  rather  hot  return 
fire.  It  was  probably  given  to  inspire  the  besieged 
with  a  due  respect  for  the  attackers1  numbers.  Bullets 
pattered  around  the  outside  walls  like  hailstones,  one 
even  whizzed  through  the  window  perilously  near  the 
girl's  intent  young  face. 

Silence  came  back  to  the  night.  There  was  no  more 
movement.  Yet  down  there  at  the  spring,  something, 
maybe  one  of  those  dark,  gaunt  cotton  woods,  held 
death  —  death  for  her  and  death  for  her  father.  A 
stream  of  icy  coldness  struck  across  her  heart.  She 
found  herself  calculating  in  deliberation  which  tree  it 
was  that  held  this  thing  —  death.  The  biggest  one, 
shadowing  the  spring,  helping  to  keep  the  pool  sweet 
and  cool  where  Paul  Langford  had  galloped  his  horse 
that  day  when  —  ah !  if  Paul  Langford  would  only 
come  now  ! 

A  wild,  girlish  hope  flashed  up  in  her  heart.  Lang- 
ford  would  come  —  had  he  not  sworn  it  to  her  father  ? 
Had  he  not  given  his  hand  as  a  pledge  ?  It  means 
something  to  shake  hands  in  the  cattle  country.  He 
was  big  and  brave  and  true.  When  he  came,  these 
awful,  creeping  terrors  would  disperse  —  grim  shadows 
that  must  steal  away  when  morning  comes,  When  he 

[99] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

came,  she  could  put  her  rifle  in  his  big,  confident  hands, 
lie  down  on  the  floor  and  —  cry.  She  wanted  to  cry  — 
oh,  how  she  did  want  to  cry  !  If  Paul  Langford  would 
only  come,  she  could  cry.  Cold  reason  came  back  to 
her  aid  and  dissipated  the  weak  and  womanish  longing 
to  give  way  to  tears.  There  was  a  pathetic  droop  to 
her  mouth,  a  long,  quivering,  sobbing  sigh,  and  she 
buried  her  woman's  weakness  right  deeply  and  stamped 
upon  it.  How  utterly  wild  and  foolish  her  brief  hope 
had  been !  Langford  and  all  his  men  were  sound  in 
sleep  long  ago.  How  could  he  know?  Were  the 
ruffians  out  there  men  to  tell  ?  Ah,  no !  There  was 
no  one  to  know.  It  would  all  happen  in  the  dark, 
—  in  awful  loneliness,  and  there  would  be  no  one  to 
know  until  it  was  all  over  —  to-morrow,  maybe,  or  next 
week,  who  could  tell  ?  They  were  off  the  main  trail, 
few  people  ever  sought  them  out.  There  would  be  no 
one  to  know. 

As  her  strained  sight  stared  out  into  the  darkness,  it 
was  borne  to  her  intuitively,  it  may  be,  that  something 
was  creeping  up  on  her.  She  could  see  nothing  and 
yet  knew  it  to  be  true.  Every  fibre  of  her  being 
tingled  with  the  certainty  of  it.  It  was  coming  closer 
and  closer.  She  felt  it  like  an  actual  presence.  Her 
eyes  shifted  here,  there  —  swept  her  half-circle  search- 
ingly  —  stared  and  stared.  Still  nothing  moved.  And 
yet  the  nearness  of  some  unseen  thing  grew  more  and 
more  palpable.  If  she  could  not  see  it  soon,  she  must 
[100] 


The  Attack  on  the  Lazy  S 

scream  aloud.  She  breathed  mettle:  ^quickened' gasps. 
Soon,  very  soon  now,  she  would"  scream.  Ah, !  A 
shadow  down  by  the  bigge&t  *£o( ton *ybbd' !;  :  .Tt-^icyldly 
sought  a  nearer  and  a  smaller  trunk.  Another  slink 
ing  shadow  glided  behind  the  vacated  position.  It  was 
a  ghastly  presentation  of  "Pussy- wan ts-a-corner"  played 
in  nightmare.  But  at  last  it  was  something  tangible, 
—  something  to  do  away  with  that  frightful  sensation 
of  that  crawling,  creeping,  twisting,  worming,  insinu 
ating —  nearer  arid  nearer,  so  near  now  that  it  beat 
upon  her  —  unseen  presence.  She  pressed  her  finger 
to  the  trigger  to  shoot  at  the  tangible  shadows  and 
dispel  that  enveloping,  choking,  blanket  horror,  when 
God  knows  what  stayed  the  muscular  action  of  her 
fingers.  Call  it  instinct,  what  you  will,  her  hand 
was  stayed  even  before  her  physical  eye  was  caught 
and  held  by  a  blot  darker  still  than  the  night,  over 
to  her  right,  farthest  from  the  spring.  It  lay  per 
fectly  still.  It  came  to  her,  the  wily  plan,  with 
startling  clearness.  The  blot  was  waiting  for  her 
to  fire  futilely  at  grinning  shadows  among  the  trees 
and,  under  cover  of  her  engrossed  attention,  insinuate 
its  treacherous  body  the  farther  forward.  Then  the 
play  would  go  merrily  on  till  —  the  end.  She  turned 
the  barrel  of  her  rifle  slowly  and  deliberately  away 
from  the  moving  shapes  among  the  cottonwood  clump, 
sighted  truly  the  motionless  blur  to  her  right,  and 
fired,  once,  twice,  three  times. 
[101] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

The  completeness  xrf  $ie  surprise  seemed  to  inspire 
the  attackers  with  a  hellish  fury.  They  returned  the  fire 
rapidly  and;  at  wilL  remaining  under  cover  the  while. 
Shrinking  low  at  her  window,  her  eyes  glued  on  the  still 
black  mass  out  yonder,  Mary  wondered  if  it  were  dead. 
She  prayed  passionately  that  it  might  be,  and  yet  —  it 
is  a  dreadful  thing  to  kill.  Once  more  the  wild  firing 
ceased.  Mary  responded  once  or  twice  just  to  keep  the 
deadly  chill  from  returning  —  if  that  were  possible. 

Under  cover  of  the  desperadoes1  fire,  at  obtuse  angles 
with  the  first  attempt,  a  second  blot  began  its  tortuous 
twisting.  It  accomplished  a  space,  stopped ;  pulled 
itself  its  length,  stopped,  waited,  watchful  eyes  on  the 
window  whence  came  Mary's  scattered  firing  still  into 
the  clump  of  trees.  They  had  drawn  her  close  regard 
at  last.  Would  it  hold  out  ?  Forward  again,  crawling 
flat  on  the  ground,  ever  advancing,  slowly,  very  slowly, 
but  also  very  surely,  creeping,  creeping,  creeping,  now 
stopping,  now  creeping,  stopping,  creeping. 

All  at  once  the  gun  play  began  again,  sharp,  quick, 
from  the  spring,  from  the  sheds.  The  blot  lay  perfectly 
still  for  a  moment  —  waiting,  watching.  The  plucky 
little  rifle  was  silent.  But  so  it  had  been  before. 
Quarter  length,  half,  whole  length,  cautiously  with 
frequent  stops,  eyes  so  steely,  so  intent  —  could  it  be 
possible  that  this  gun  was  really  silenced  —  out  of  the 
race  ?  It  would  not  do  to  trust  too  much.  The  blot 
waited,  scarcely  breathed,  crept  forward  again. 
[102] 


The  Attack  on  the  Lazy  S 

A  sudden  bright  light  flashed  up  through  the  dark 
ness  under  the  unprotected  wall  to  Mary's  left.  Almost 
simultaneously  a  kindred  light  sprang  into  being  from 
the  region  of  the  cattle-sheds.  The  men  down  there 
had  been  waiting  for  this  signal.  It  meant  that  for 
some  reason  the  second  effort  to  creep  up  unobserved 
to  fire  the  house  had  been  successful.  The  flare  grew 
and  spread.  It  became  a  glare. 

When  the  whole  cabin  seemed  to  be  in  flames  save 
the  door,  —  the  dry,  rude  boarding  had  caught  and 
burned  ike  paper, —  when  the  heat  had  become  unbear 
able,  Williston  held  out  his  hand  to  his  daughter, 
silently.  As  silently  she  put  her  hand,  her  left  hand, 
in  his ;  nor  did  Williston  notice  that  it  was  her  left, 
nor  how  limply  her  right  arm  hung  to  her  side.  In 
the  glare,  her  face  shone  colorless,  but  her  dark  eyes 
were  stars.  Her  head  was  held  high.  With  firm  step, 
Williston  advanced  to  the  door.  Deliberately  he  un 
barred  it,  as  deliberately  threw  it  open,  and  stepped 
over  the  threshold.  They  were  covered  on  the  instant 
by  four  rifles. 

"  Drop  your  guns  !  "  called  the  chief,  roughly.  Then 
the  desperadoes  moved  up. 

"  I  take  it  that  I  am  the  one  wanted,11  said  Williston. 

His  voice  was  calm  and  scholarly  once  more.     In  the 

uselessness  of  further  struggle,  it  had   lost  the  sharp 

incisiveness  that  had  been  the  call  to  action.     If  one 

must  die,  it  is  good  to  die  after  a  brave  fight.     One  is 

[103] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

never  a  coward  then.  Williston's  face  wore  an  almost 
exalted  look. 

"  My  daughter  is  free  to  go  ?  "  he  asked,  his  first 
words  having  met  with  no  response.  Better,  much 
better,  for  the  make  of  a  man  like  Williston  to  die  in 
the  dignity  of  silence,  but  for  Mary's  sake  he  parleyed. 

"  I  guess  not ! "  responded  the  leader,  curtly.  "  If  a 
pulin'  idiot  had  n't  missed  the  broadside  of  you  —  as 
pretty  a  mark  this  side  heaven  as  man  could  want, — 
then  we  might  talk  about  the  girl.  She's  showed  up 
too  damned  much  like  a  man  now  to  let  her  loose." 

His  big,  shuffling  form  lounged  in  his  saddle.  He 
raised  his  rifle  with  every  appearance  of  lazy  indiffer 
ence.  They  were  to  be  shot  down  where  they  stood, 
now,  right  on  the  threshold  of  their  burning  homestead. 

Williston  bowed  his  head  to  the  inevitable  for 
a  moment;  then  raised  it  proudly  to  meet  the 
inevitable. 

A  rifle  shot  rang  out  startlingly  clear.  At  the  very 
moment  the  leader's  hawk's  eye  had  swept  the  sight, 
his  rifle  arm  had  twitched  uncertainly,  then  fallen 
nerveless  to  his  side,  while  his  bullet,  playing  a  faltering 
and  discordant  second  to  the  first  true  shot,  tore  up  the 
ground  in  front  of  him  and  swerved  harmlessly  to  one 
side.  Instantly  the  wildest  confusion  reigned, —  shouts, 
curses,  the  plunging  of  horses  mingled  with  the  sharp 
crack  of  fire-arms.  The  shooting  was  wild.  The  sur 
prise  was  too  complete  for  the  outlaws  to  recover  at 
[104] 


The  Attack  on  the  Lazy  S 

once.  They  had  heard  no  sound  of  approaching  hoof- 
beats.  The  roaring  flames  licking  up  the  dry  lumber, 
and  rendering  the  surrounding  darkness  the  blacker  for 
the  contrast,  had  been  of  saving  grace  to  the  besiegers 
after  all. 

In  a  moment,  the  desperadoes  rallied.  They  closed 
in  and  imposed  a  cursing,  malignant  wall  between  the 
rescuers  and  the  blazing  door  of  the  shanty  and  what 
stood  and  lay  before  it.  Mary  had  sunk  down  at  her 
father's  feet,  and  had  no  cognizance  of  the  fierce  though 
brief  conflict  that  ensued. 

Presently,  she  was  dragged  roughly  to  her  feet.  A 
big,  muscular  arm  had  heavy  grasp  of  her. 

"Make  sure  of  the  girl,  Red  !  "  commanded  a  sharp 
voice  near,  and  it  was  gone  out  into  the  night. 

Afterward,  she  heard  —  oh,  many,  many  times  in  the 
night  watches  —  the  eerie  galloping  of  horses1  hoofs, 
growing  fainter  and  ever  fainter,  heard  it  above  the 
medley  of  trampling  horses  and  yelling  men,  and  knew 
it  for  what  it  meant ;  but  to-night  —  this  evil  night  — 
she  gave  but  one  quick,  bewildered  glance  into  the 
sinister  face  above  her  and  in  a  soft,  shuddering  voice 
breathed,  "  Please  don't,"  and  fainted. 


[105] 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  WHICH  THE  X  Y  Z  FIGURES  SOMEWHAT 
MYSTERIOUSLY 

JIM  MUNSON,  riding  his  pony  over  the  home 
trail  at  a  slow  walk,  drooped  sleepily  in  his 
saddle.  It  was  not  a  weirdly  late  bedtime, 
half-past  ten,  maybe,  but  he  would  have  been  sleep 
ing  soundly  a  good  hour  or  more  had  this  not  been  his 
night  to  go  to  town  —  if  he  chose.  He  had  chosen. 
He  would  not  have  missed  his  chance  for  a  good  deal. 
But  his  dissipation  had  been  light.  The  Boss  never 
tolerated  much  along  that  line.  He  had  drunk  with 
some  congenial  cronies  from  the  Circle  E  outfit  com 
plimentary  to  the  future  well-being  and  increasing 
wealth  of  this  already  well-known  and  flourishing  cattle 
ranch.  Of  course  he  must  drink  a  return  compliment 
to  the  same  rose-colored  prosperity  for  the  Three  Bars, 
which  he  did  and  sighed  for  more.  That  made  two, 
and  two  were  the  limit,  and  here  was  the  limit  over 
reached  already ;  for  there  had  always  to  be  a  last  little 
comforter  to  keep  him  from  nodding  in  his  saddle. 

Before  the  time  arrived  for  that,  there  were  some 
errands  to  be  executed  for  the  boys  on  duty  at  the 
[106] 


X  Y  Z  Figures  Mysteriously 

home  ranch.  These  necessitated  a  call  at  the  post- 
office,  the  purchase  of  several  slabs  of  plug  tobacco, 
some  corn-cob  pipes,  and  some  writing  material  for 
Kin  Lathrop.  He  must  not  forget  the  baking  powder 
for  the  cook.  Woe  to  him,  Munson,  if  there  were 
no  biscuits  for  breakfast.  Meanwhile  he  must  not  neg 
lect  to  gather  what  little  news  was  going.  That  would 
be  a  crime  as  heinous  as  the  forgetting  of  the  baking 
powder.  But  there  did  n't  seem  to  be  anything  doing 
to-night.  Only  the  sheriff  was  playing  again  behind 
the  curtain.  Could  n't  fool  him.  Damned  hypocrite  ! 

The  errands  accomplished  to  his  satisfaction  and 
nothing  forgotten,  as  frequent  and  close  inspection  of 
the  list  written  out  by  the  Scribe  proved,  his  comforter 
swallowed,  lingeringly,  and  regretfully,  he  was  now 
riding  homeward,  drowsy  but  vastly  contented  with  the 
world  in  general  and  particularly  with  his  own  lot 
therein.  It  was  a  sleepy  night,  cool  and  soft  and  still. 
He  could  walk  his  horse  all  the  way  if  he  wanted  to. 
There  was  no  haste.  The  boys  would  all  be  in  bed. 
They  would  not  even  wait  up  for  the  mail,  knowing  his, 
Jim's,  innate  aversion  to  hurry.  Had  he  not  been  so 
drowsy,  he  would  like  to  have  sung  a  bit ;  but  it  re 
quired  a  little  too  much  effort.  He  would  just  plod 
along. 

Must  all  be  in  bed  at  Williston's  —  no  light  any 
where.  A  little  short  of  where  the  Williston  branch 
left  the  main  trail,  he  half  paused.  If  it  were  not  so 
[107] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

late,  he  would  ride  up  and  give  them  a  hail.  But  of 
course  they  were  asleep.  Everything  seemed  still  and 
dark  about  the  premises.  He  would  just  plod  along. 

"  Hello,  there  !  Where  'd  you  come  from  ?  "  he  cried 
of  a  sudden,  and  before  he  had  had  time  to  carry  his 
resolve  into  action. 

A  man  on  horseback  had  drawn  rein  directly  in  front 
of  him.  Jim  blinked  with  the  suddenness  of  the  shock. 

"Might  ask  you  the  same  question,"  responded, the 
other  with  an  easy  laugh.  "  I  'm  for  town  to  see  the 
doctor  about  my  little  girl.  Been  puny  for  a  week." 

"  Oh  !  Where  you  from  ?  "  asked  Jim,  with  the  cour 
teous  interest  of  his  kind. 

"New  man  on  the  X  Y  Z,"  answered  the  other, 
lightly.  "  Must  be  gettin'  on.  Worried  about  my 
baby  girl." 

He  touched  spurs  to  his  horse  and  was  off  with  a 
friendly  "  So  long,"  over  his  shoulder. 

Jim  rode  on  thoughtfully. 

"  Now  don't  it  beat  the  devil,"  he  was  thinking, 
"how  that  there  cow-puncher  struck  this  trail  comin"1 
from  the  X  Y  Z  —  with  the  X  Y  Z  clean  t'  other  side 
o'  town  ?  Yep,  it  beats  the  devil,  for  a  fac\  He  must 
be  a  ridin'  for  his  health.  It  beats  the  devil."  This 
last  was  long  drawn  out.  He  rode  a  little  farther. 
"  It  beats  the  devil,"  he  thought  again, —  the  wonder 
of  it  was  waking  him  up, —  "how  that  blamed  fool 
could  a1  struck  this  here  trail  a  goin1  for  Doc." 
[108] 


X  Y  Z  Figures  Mysteriously 

At  the  branch  road  he  stopped  irresolutely. 

"  It  beats  the  devil  —  for  a  fac\"  He  looked  help 
lessly  over  his  shoulder.  The  man  was  beyond  sight 
and  sound.  "  If  he  had  n't  said  he  was  goin1  for  Doc 
and  belonged  to  the  X  Y  Z,"  he  pondered.  He  was 
swearing  because  he  could  not  think  of  a  way  out  of 
the  maze  of  contradiction.  He  was  so  seldom  at  a  loss, 
this  braggadocio  Jim.  "  Well,  I  reckon  I  won't  get 
any  he'p  a  moonin'  here  lessen  I  wait  here  till  that  son- 
of-a-gun  comes  back  from  seem'  Doc.  Lord,  I  'd  have 
to  camp  out  all  night.  Guess  1 11  be  a  movin'  on.  But 
I'm  plumb  a-foot  for  an  idee  as  to  how  that  idjit  got 
here  from  the  X  Y  Z." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  picked  up  the  fallen 
bridle-rein.  He  kept  on  straight  ahead,  and  it  was 
well  for  him  that  he  did  so.  It  was  not  the  last  of  the 
affair.  The  old,  prosaic  trail  seemed  fairly  bristling 
with  ghostly  visitants  that  night.  He  had  gone  but  a 
scant  quarter-mile  when  he  met  with  a  second  horse 
man,  and  this  time  he  would  have  sworn  on  oath  that 
the  man  had  not  been  on  the  forward  trail  as  long  as 
he  should  have  been  to  be  seen  in  the  starlight.  Jim 
was  not  dozing  now  and  he  knew  what  he  was  about. 
The  fellow  struck  the  trail  from  across  country  and 
from  the  direction  of  Williston's  home  cattle  sheds. 

"  The  devil ! "  he  muttered,  and  this  time  he  was  in 
deep  and  terrible  earnest. 

"  Hullo  ! "  the  fellow  accosted  him,  genially. 
[  109  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  Too  damned  pleasant  —  the  whole  bunch  of  'em," 
found  quick  lodgment  in  Jim's  active  brain.  Aloud, 
he  responded  with  answering  good-nature,  "  Hullo  !  " 

"Where  ye  goin'?"  asked  the  other,  as  if  in  no 
particular  haste  to  part  company.  If  he  had  met 
with  a  surprise,  he  carried  it  off  well. 

"  Home.  Been  to  town.11  Jim  was  on  tenter  hooks 
to  be  off. 

"  Belong  to  the  Three  Bars,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yep." 

"  Thought  so.     Well,  good  luck  to  you." 

"  Say,"  said  Jim,  suddenly,  "you  don't  happen  to 
hang  out  at  the  X  Y  Z,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Naw  !  What  d'  ye  suppose  I  'd  be  doing  here  this 
time  of  night  if  I  did  ?  "  There  was  scorn  in  his  voice 
and  suspicion,  too.  "  Why  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  nothin'.  Thought  I  knew  your  build,  but  I 
guess  I  was  mistaken.  So  long." 

He  had  an  itching  desire  to  ask  if  this  night  traveller, 
too,  was  in  quest  of  the  doctor,  but  caution  held  him 
silent.  He  had  need  to  proceed  warily.  He  rode 
briskly  along  until  he  judged  he  had  gone  far  enough 
to  allay  suspicion,  then  he  halted  suddenly.  Very  wide 
awake  was  Jim  now.  His  hand  rested  unconsciously  on 
the  Colt's  45,  protruding  from  his  loosely  hanging  belt. 
His  impulse  was  to  ride  boldly  back  and  up  to  Willis- 
ton's  door,  and  thus  satisfy  himself  as  to  what  was  doing 
so  mysteriously.  There  was  not  a  cowardly  drop  in 
[110] 


X  Y  Z  Figures  Mysteriously 

Jim's  circulation.  But  if  foul  play  was  abroad  for  Wil- 
liston  that  night,  he,  Jim,  of  course,  was  spotted  and 
would  never  be  permitted  to  reach  the  house.  It  would 
mean  a  useless  sacrifice.  Now,  he  needed  to  be  alive. 
There  was  a  crying  need  for  his  good  and  active  service. 
Afterwards  —  well,  it  was  all  in  the  day's  work.  It 
would  n't  so  much  matter  then.  He  touched  spurs 
lightly,  bent  his  head  against  the  friction  of  the  air 
and  urged  his  horse  to  the  maddest,  wildest  race  he  had 
ever  run  since  that  day  long  ago,  to  be  forgotten  by 
neither,  when  he  had  been  broken  to  his  master's  will. 

Paul  Langford  dropped  one  shoe  nervelessly  to  the 
wolfskin  in  front  of  his  bed.  Though  his  bachelor 
room  was  plain  in  most  respects,  plain  for  the  better 
convenience  of  the  bachelor  hands  that  had  it  to  put 
to  rights  every  day,  —  with  the  exception  of  a  cook, 
Langford  kept  no  servant, —  the  wolfskin  here,  an 
Indian  blanket  thrown  over  a  stiff  chair  by  the  table,  a 
Japanese  screen  concealing  the  ugly  little  sheet-iron 
stove  that  stood  over  in  its  corner  all  the  year  round, 
gave  evidence  that  his  tastes  were  really  luxurious.  An 
oil  lamp  was  burning  dimly  on  the  table.  The  soot 
of  many  burnings  adhered  to  the  chimney's  inner 
side. 

"One  would  know  it  was  Jim's  week  by  looking  at 
that  chimney,"  muttered  the  Boss,  eyeing  the  offending 
chimney  discontentedly  as  he  dropped  the  other  shoe. 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  He  seems  to  have  an  inborn  aversion  to  cleaning 
chimneys.  It  must  be  a  birthmark,  or  maybe  he  was 
too  anxious  to  get  to  town  to-night.  I  see  I  '11  have  to 
discipline  Jim.  I  have  to  stop  and  think  even  now, 
sometimes,  who 's  boss  of  this  shebang,  he  or  I.  Some 
times  Fm  inclined  to  the  opinion  that  he  is.  Come 
to  think  of  it,  though,"  whimsically,  "  I  lean  to  a  vague 
misgiving  that  I  did  n't  touch  that  low-down  chimney 
myself  last  week.  We  're  kind  of  an  ornery  set,  I  'm 
thinking,  every  mother's  son  of  us  —  and  I  'm  the  worst 
of  the  lot.  Sometimes  I  wonder  if  it  would  n't  be 
better  for  the  bunch  of  us,  if  one  of  the  boys  were  to 
marry  and  bring  his  girl  to  the  Three  Bars.  But  I  '11 
be  hanged  if  I  know  which  one  I  'd  care  to  give  up  to 
the  feminine  gender.  Besides,  she  'd  be  bossy  —  they 
all  are  —  and  she  'd  wear  blue  calico  wrappers  in 
the  morning  —  they  all  do." 

He  began  pacing  the  floor  in  his  stocking  feet. 

"  Wish  I  could  get  that  blamed  little  girl  of  Willis- 
ton's  out  of  my  head  to-night.  Positively  red-headed. 
Well,  call  it  auburn  for  the  sake  of  politeness.  What 's 
the  difference  ?  She 's  a  winner,  though.  Wonder  why 
I  did  n't  know  about  her  before  ?  Wonder  if  Dick  's  in 
love  with  her  ?  Should  n't  wonder.  He 's  plumb  daffy 
on  the  subject  of  the  old  man.  Never  thought  of  that 
before.  Or  maybe  it's  Jim.  No,  she's  not  his  kind." 
He  stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  open  window  and 
looked  out  into  the  still,  starry  night.  "  Guess  I  '11 
[112] 


X  Y  Z  Figures  Mysteriously 

have  to  let  the  Scribe  commit  matrimony,  if  he's 
'  willinV  He 's  the  only  one  of  the  bunch  —  fit." 

The  sound  of  galloping  hoof-beats  on  the  hard  road 
below  came  up  to  him  as  he  stood  at  the  window.  A 
solitary  horseman  was  coming  that  way  and  he  was 
putting  his  horse  to  the  limit,  too. 

"Who  the  —  deuce,"  began  Langford.  "It's  Jim's 
i cow  pony  as  sure  as  I'm  a  sinner!  What  brings  him 
i  home  at  that  pace,  I  wonder  ?  Is  he  drunk  ?  " 

He  peered  out  indifferently.  The  hoof-beats  rang 
nearer  and  nearer,  clattered  through  the  stable  yards 
and,  before  they  ceased,  two  or  three  revolver  shots 
rang  out  in  rapid  succession.  Jim  had  fired  into  the 
air  to  arouse  the  house. 

Springing  from  his  reeking  bronco,  he  ran  quickly  to 
the  stable  and  threw  wide  the  door.  Here  the  Boss, 
bhe  first  to  gain  the  outside  because  already  dressed, 
found  him  hastily  saddling  a  fresh  mount.  Langford 
asked  no  question.  That  would  come  later.  He 
stepped  silently  to  Sadie's  stall. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  the  rest  of  the 
boys  came  leaping  out  of  the  ranchhouse,  slamming  the 
door  behind  them.  To  be  up  and  doing  was  the  meat 
they  fed  upon.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  they  were  all 
mounted  and  ready,  five  of  them,  silent,  full  to  the 
brim  of  reckless  hardihood,  prime  for  any  adventure 
that  would  serve  to  break  the  monotony  of  their  lives. 
More  than  that,  every  fibre  of  their  being,  when 
8  [  113  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

touched,  would  respond,  a  tuneful,  sounding  string  of 
loyalty  to  the  traditions  of  the  Three  Bars  and  to  its 
young  master.  Each  was  fully  armed.  They  asked  no 
question.  Yet  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  a  surprise 
when  the  time  came  for  action.  They  were  always  pre 
pared,  these  boys  of  the  most  popular  ranch  outfit  west 
of  the  river.  Right  in  the  face  of  this  popularity,  per 
haps  because  of  it,  they  were  a  bit  overbearing,  these 
boys,  and  held  fellowship  with  any  outside  the  Three 
Bars  a  thing  not  to  be  lightly  entered  into.  It  was  a 
fine  thing  to  work  for  the  Boss,  and  out  of  the  content 
accruing  therefrom  sprang  a  conservatism  like  that  of 
the  proudest  aristocrat  of  the  land. 

Langford  took  the  trail  first.  Jim  had  said  but  the 
one  word,  "  Williston."  It  was  enough.  Nothing  was 
to  be  heard  but  the  rapid  though  regular  pound  of 
hoof-beats  on  the  level  trail.  It  is  a  silent  country,  the 
cow  country,  and  its  gravity  begets  gravity. 

Langford,  riding  slightly  in  advance,  was  having  a 
bad  time  with  himself.  The  keenest  self-reproach  was 
stabbing  him  like  a  physical  pain.  His  honor  —  his 
good  honor,  that  he  held  so  high  and  stainless  —  was  his 
word  not  given  by  it  that  the  Willistons  might  count  on 
his  sure  protection  ?  What  had  he  done  to  merit  this 
proud  boast  ?  Knowing  that  Jesse  Black  was  once  more 
at  liberty,  fully  realizing  of  what  vast  import  to  the 
State  would  be  Williston's  testimony  when  the  rustlers 
should  be  brought  to  trial,  he  had  sat  stupidly  back  and 


X  Y  Z  Figures  Mysteriously 

done  nothing.  And  he  had  promised.  Would  Willis- 
ton  have  had  the  courage  without  that  promise  ?  Why 
were  not  some  of  his  cowboys  even  now  sleeping  with 
an  eye  upon  that  little  claim  shack  where  lived  that 
scholar-man  who  was  not  fit  for  the  rough  life  of  the 
plains,  maybe,  but  who  had  been  brave  enough  and 
high-minded  enough  to  lay  his  all  on  the  white  altar 
of  telling  what  he  knew  for  right's  sake.  And  the 
girl  — 

"  God !     The  girl ! "  he  cried  aloud. 

"  What  did  you  say,  Boss  ? "  asked  Jim,  pounding 
alongside. 

"  Nothing  !  "  said  Langford,  curtly. 

He  spurred  his  mare  savagely.  In  the  shock  of  the 
surprise,  and  the  sting  that  his  neglected  word  brought 
him,  he  had  forgotten  the  girl  —  Williston's  "little 
girl "  with  the  grave  eyes  —  the  girl  who  was  not  ten 
but  twenty  and  more  —  the  girl  who  had  waited  for 
him,  whom  he  had  sent  on  her  long  way  alone,  joyously, 
as  one  free  of  a  duty  that  promised  to  be  irksome  — 
the  girl  who  had  brought  the  blood  to  his  face  when, 
ashamed,  he  had  galloped  off  to  the  spring  —  the  girl 
who  had  closed  her  door  when  a  man's  curious  eyes  had 
roved  that  way.  How  could  he  forget  ? 

The  little  cavalcade  swept  on  with  increased  speed, 
following  the  lead  of  the  master.  Soon  the  sound  of 
shooting  was  borne  to  them  distinctly  through  the 
quiet  night. 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  Thank  God,  boys  !  "  cried  Langford,  digging  in  his 
spurs  once  more.  "  They  are  not  surprised  !  Listen  ! 
God  !  What  a  plucky  fight !  If  they  can  only  hold 
out ! " 

At  that  moment  a  tiny  tongue  of  flame  leaped  up 
away  to  the  front  of  them,  gleaming  in  the  darkness 
like  a  beacon  light.  Now  there  were  two  —  they  grew, 
spread,  leaped  heavenward  in  mad  revel.  Langford's 
heart  sank  like  lead.  He  groaned  in  an  exceeding 
bitterness  of  spirit.  The  worst  had  happened.  Would 
they  be  in  time  ?  These  claim  shanties  burn  like 
paper.  And  the  girl !  He  doubted  not  that  she  had 
sustained  her  share  of  the  good  fight.  She  had  fought 
like  a  man,  she  must  die  like  a  man, —  would  be  the 
outlaw's  reasoning.  He  believed  she  would  die  like  a 
man  —  if  that  meant  bravely, —  but  something  clutched 
at  his  heart-strings  with  the  thought.  Her  big,  solemn 
eyes  came  back  to  him  now  as  they  had  looked  when 
she  had  lifted  them  to  him  gravely  as  he  sat  his  horse 
and  she  had  said  she  had  waited  for  him.  Was  she 
waiting  now  ? 

The  boys  rallied  to  the  new  impetus  gloriously. 
They  knew  now  what  it  meant  and  their  hardy  hearts 
thrilled  to  the  excitement  of  it,  and  the  danger.  They 
swept  from  the  main  trail  into  the  dimmer  one  leading 
to  Williston's,  without  diminution  of  speed.  Presently, 
the  Boss  drew  rein  with  a  suddenness  that  would  have 
played  havoc  with  the  equilibrium  of  less  seasoned 
[116] 


.     X  Y  Z  Figures  Mysteriously 

horsemen  than  cowboys.  They  followed  with  the  pre 
cision  and  accord  of  trained  cavalrymen.  Now  and 
then  could  be  seen  a  black,  sinister  figure  patrolling 
the  burning  homestead,  but  hugging  closely  the  outer 
skirt  of  darkness,  waiting  for  the  doomed  door  to  open. 

"  Boys ! "  began  Langford.  But  he  never  gave  the 
intended  command  to  charge  at  once  with  wild  shout 
ing  and  shooting  to  frighten  away  the  marauders  and 
give  warning  to  the  besieged  that  rescue  was  at  hand. 
For  at  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Williston 
and  his  daughter  stepped  out  in  full  view  of  raider  and 
rescuer.  Would  there  be  parley  ?  A  man,  slouching  in 
his  saddle,  rode  up  into  the  circle  of  lurid  light.  Was 
it  Jesse  Black  ?  There  was  something  hauntingly  fami 
liar  about  the  droop  of  the  shoulders.  That  was 
all ;  hardly  enough  to  hang  a  man. 

Langford  raised  his  rifle  quickly.  His  nerves  were 
perfectly  steady.  His  sight  was  never  truer.  His 
bullet  went  straight  to  the  rifle  arm  of  the  outlaw  ; 
with  a  ringing  shout  he  rallied  his  comrades,  spurred 
his  pony  forward,  and  the  little  party  charged  the 
astounded  raiders  with  a  fury  of  shots  that  made 
each  rustler  stand  well  to  his  own  support,  leaving 
the  Willistons,  for  the  time  being,  free  from  their 
attention. 

The  desperadoes  were  on  the  run.  They  cared  to 
take  no  risk  of  identification.  It  was  not  easy  to  deter 
mine  how  many  there  were.  There  seemed  a  half-dozen 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

or  more,  but  probably  four  or  five  at  the  most  would 
tell  their  number. 

The  flames  were  sinking.  Williston  had  disappeared. 
The  boys  scattered  in  wild  pursuit.  Wheeling  his 
horse,  Langford  was  in  time  to  see  a  big,  muscular 
fellow  swing  a  girlish  form  to  the  saddle  in  front  of 
him.  Quick  as  a  flash  he  spurred  forward,  lifted  his 
heavy  Coifs  revolver  high  over  his  head  and  brought  it 
down  on  the  fellow's  skull  with  a  force  that  knocked 
him  senseless  without  time  for  a  sigh  or  moan.  As  his 
arms  fell  lax  and  he  toppled  in  his  saddle,  Langford 
caught  the  girl  and  swung  her  free  of  entanglement. 

"  Poor  little  girl,"  he  breathed  over  her  as  her  white 
face  dropped  with  unconscious  pathos  against  his  big 
shoulder.  "  Poor  little  girl  —  I  'm  sorry  —  I  did  n't 
mean  to  —  honest  —  I  'm  sorry."  He  chafed  her  hands 
gently.  "And  I  don't  know  where  your  father  is, 
either.  Are  you  hurt  anywhere,  or  have  you  only 
fainted  ?  God  knows  I  don't  wonder.  It  was  hellish. 
Why,  child,  child,  your  arm  !  It  is  broken  !  Oh,  little 
girl,  I  did  n't  mean  to  —  honest  —  honest.  I  'm 
sorry." 

Jim  rode  up  panting,  eyes  blood-shot. 

"  We  can't  find  him,  Boss.  They've  carried  him  off, 
dead  or  alive." 

"  Is  it  so,  Jim  ?  Are  you  sure  ?  How  far  did  you 
follow?" 

"  We  must  have  followed  the  wrong  lead.  If  any 
[118] 


X  Y  Z  Figures  Mysteriously 

one  was  ridin'  double,  it  was  n't  the  ones  we  was  after, 
that  's  one  thing  sure.  The  blamed  hoss  thieves  pulled 
clean  away  from  us.  Our  hosses  were  plumb  winded 
anyway.  And  —  there  's  a  deader  out  there,  Boss," 
lowering  his  voice ;  "  I  found  him  as  I  came  back." 

"  That  explains  why  no  one  was  riding  double,"  said 
Langford,  thoughtfully. 

"  How 's  the  gal,  Boss  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Jim.  I  —  don't  know  what  to  do 
now." 

His  eyes  were  full  of  trouble. 

"  Ain't  no  use  cryin'  over  spilt  milk  and  that 's  a 
fac'.  'Bout  as  sensible  as  a  try  in'  to  pick  it  up  after 
it  is  spilt.  We  won't  find  Williston  this  here  night, 
that's  one  thing  sure.  So  we'll  just  tote  the  little  gal 
home  to  the  Three  Bars  with  us." 

The  boys  were  returning,  silent,  gloomy,  disconsolate. 
They  eyed  the  Boss  tentatively.  Would  they  receive 
praise  or  censure  ?  They  had  worked  hard. 

"You're  all  right,  boys,"  said  Langford,  smiling 
away  their  gloom.  "  But  about  the  girl.  There  is  no 
woman  at  the  Three  Bars,  you  know  —  " 

"  So  you  'd  leave  her  out  all  night  to  the  dew  and 
the  coyotes  and  the  hoss  thieves,  would  you,"  inter 
rupted  Jim,  with  a  fine  sarcasm,  "jest  because  there 
ain't  no  growed-up  woman  at  the  Three  Bars  ?  What 
d'  ye  think  Williston's  little  gal  'd  care  for  style  ?  She 
ain't  afraid  o'  us  ol'  grizzled  fellers.  I  hope  to  the 
[119] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Lord  there  won't  never  be  no  growed-up  woman  at  the 
Three  Bars, —  yep,  that's  what  I  hope.  I  think  that 
mouse-haired  gal  reporter 'd  be  just  tumble  fussy,  and  I 
think  she's  a  goin'  to  marry  a  down  Easterner  chap, 
anyway." 

"  Just  pick  up  that  fellow,  will  you,  boys,  and  strap 
him  to  his  horse,  and  we  '11  take  him  along,"  said  Lang- 
ford.  "  I  don't  believe  he 's  dead." 

"  What  fellow  ?  "  asked  the  Scribe,  peering  casually 
about. 

Langford  had  unconsciously  ridden  forward  a  bit  to 
meet  the  boys  as  they  had  clattered  up  shamefacedly. 
Now  he  turned. 

"  Why,  that  fellow  over  there.     I  knocked  him  out." 

He  rode  back  slowly.  There  was  no  man  there,  nor 
the  trace  of  a  man.  They  stared  at  each  other  a 
moment,  silently.  Then  Langford  spoke. 

"  No,  I  am  not  going  to  leave  Williston's  little  girl 
out  in  the  dew,"  he  said,  with  an  inscrutable  smile. 
"While  some  of  you  ride  in  to  get  some  one  to  see 
about  that  body  out  there  and  bring  out  the  doctor, 
I'll  take  her  over  to  White's  for  to-night,  anyway. 
Mrs.  White  will  care  for  her.  Then  perhaps  we  will 
send  for  the  '  gal  reporter,'  Jim." 


[120] 


CHAPTER   XI 

"YOU  ARE  — THE  BOSS" 

SHE  held  out  her  left  hand  with  a  sad  little  smile. 
"  It  is  good  of  you  to  come  so  soon,"  she  said, 
simply. 

She  had  begged  so  earnestly  to  sit  up  that  Mrs. 
White  had  improvised  an  invalid's  chair  out  of  a  huge 
old  rocker  and  a  cracker  box.  It  did  very  well.  Then 
she  had  partially  clothed  the  girl  in  a  skimpy  wrapper 
of  the  sort  Langford  abominated,  throwing  a  man's 
silk  handkerchief  where  the  wrapper  failed  to  meet,  and 
around  the  injured  arm.  Mrs.  White  had  then  recalled 
her  husband  from  the  stables  where  he  was  on  the  point 
of  mounting  to  join  the  relief  party  that  was  to  set  off 
in  search  of  Williston  at  ten  o'clock.  The  starting 
point  unanimously  agreed  upon  was  to  be  the  pitiful 
remnants  of  Williston's  home.  Men  shook  their  heads 
dubiously  whenever  the  question  of  a  possible  leading 
trail  was  broached.  The  soil  was  hard  and  dry  from 
an  almost  rainless  July  and  August.  The  fugitives 
might  strike  across  country  anywhere  with  meagre 
chances  of  their  trail  being  traced  by  any. 

Mrs.  White  and  her  husband,  kindly  souls  both,  lifted 
the  girl  as  gently  as  might  be  from  the  bed  to  the  rudely 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

constructed  invalid's  chair  by  the  sitting-room  window. 
Then  they  had  left  her  —  the  woman  to  putter  around 
her  kitchen,  the  man  to  make  good  his  appointment. 
But  the  exertion  had  been  too  much  for  Mary.  She 
had  counted  on  strength  that  she  did  not  possess. 
Where  had  she  lost  it  all  ?  she  wondered,  lacking  com 
prehension  of  her  exceeding  weakness.  To  be  sure,  her 
arm  alternately  ached  and  smarted,  but  one's  arm  was 
really  such  a  small  part  of  one,  and  she  had  been  so 
strong  —  always.  She  tried  to  shake  off  the  faintness 
creeping  over  her.  It  was  effort  thrown  away.  She  lay 
back  on  her  pillow,  very  white  and  worn,  her  pretty 
hair  tangled  and  loosened  from  its  coils. 

Paul  came.  He  was  dusty  and  travel-stained.  He 
had  been  almost  continuously  in  his  saddle  since  near 
midnight  of  the  night  before.  He  was  here,  big,  strong, 
and  worthy.  Mary  did  not  cry,  but  she  remembered 
how  she  had  wanted  to  a  few  hours  ago  and  she  won 
dered  that  she  could  not  now.  Strangely  enough,  it 
was  Paul  who  wanted  to  cry  now  —  but  he  did  n't.  He 
only  swallowed  hard  and  held  her  poor  hand  with  all 
gentleness,  afraid  to  let  go  lest  he  also  let  go  his 
mastery  over  the  almost  insurmountable  lump  in  his 
throat. 

"  I  tried  to  come  sooner,1'  he  said,  huskily,  at  last, 

releasing  her   hand   and   standing  before  her.      "But 

I  Ve  been  riding  all  over  —  for  men,  you  know, —  and 

I  had  a  talk  with  Gordon,  too.     It  took  time.     He  is 

[122] 


'You  are  — the  Boss' 

coming  out  to  see  you  this  afternoon.  He  is  coming 
with  Doc.  Don't  you  think  you  had  better  go  back  to 
bed  now  ?  You  are  so  —  so  white.  Let  me  carry  you 
back  to  bed  before  I  go." 

"  Are  you  going,  too  ?  "  asked  Mary,  looking  at  him 
with  wide  eyes  of  gratitude. 

"  Surely,"  he  responded,  quickly.  "  Did  you  think  I 
wouldn't?" 

"I  —  I  —  did  n't  know.  I  thought  —  there  were  a 
lot  going  —  there  would  be  enough  without  you.  But 
—  I  am  glad.  If  you  go,  it  will  be  all  right.  You  will 
find  him  if  any  one  can." 

u  Won't  you  let  me  carry  you  back  to  bed  till  Doc 
comes  ?  "  said  Langford,  brokenly. 

"  I  could  not  bear  it  in  bed,"  she  said,  clearly.  Her 
brown  eyes  were  beginning  to  shine  with  fever,  and  red 
spots  had  broken  out  in  her  pale  cheeks.  "  If  you  make 
me  go,  I  shall  die.  I  hear  it  all  the  time  when  I  am 
lying  down  —  galloping,  galloping,  galloping.  They 
never  stop.  They  always  begin  all  over  again." 

"  What  galloping,  little  girl  ? "  asked  Langford, 
soothingly.  He  saw  she  was  becoming  delirious.  If 
Doc  and  Dick  would  only  come  before  he  had  to  go. 
But  they  were  not  coming  until  after  dinner.  He 
gazed  down  the  dusty  road.  They  would  wait  for  him, 
the  others.  He  was  their  leader  by  the  natural-born 
right  of  push  and  energy,  as  well  as  by  his  having  been 
the  sole  participant,  with  his  own  cowboys,  in  the  last 
[123] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

night's  tragedy.  But  would  he  do  well  to  keep  them 
waiting  ?  They  had  already  delayed  too  long.  And 
yet  how  could  he  leave  Williston's  little  girl  like  this 
—  even  to  find  Williston? 

"  They  are  carrying  my  father  away,"  she  said,  with 
startling  distinctness.  "  Don't  you  hear  them  ?  If  you 
would  listen,  you  could  hear  them.  Do  listen  !  They 
are  getting  faint  now  —  you  can  hardly  hear  them. 
They  are  fainter  —  fainter  —  fainter  —  " 

She  had  raised  her  head.  There  was  an  alert  look 
on  her  face.  She  leaned  slightly  toward  the  window. 

"  Good  God  !  A  man  can't  stand  everything  !  " 
cried  Langford,  hoarsely.  He  tore  the  knotted  hand 
kerchief  from  his  throat.  It  was  as  if  he  was  choking. 
Then  he  put  his  cool,  strong  hand  to  her  burning  fore 
head  and  gently  smoothed  back  the  rough  hair.  Grad 
ually,  the  fixed  look  of  an  indescribable  horror  passed 
away  from  her  face.  The  strained,  hard  eyes  softened, 
became  dewy.  She  looked  at  him,  a  clinging  helpless 
ness  in  her  eyes,  but  sweet  and  sane. 

"  Don't  you  worry,  child,"  he  said,  comfortingly. 
"  They  can't  help  finding  him.  Twenty  men  with  the 
sheriff  start  on  the  trail.  There  '11  be  fifty  before 
night.  They  can't  help  finding  him.  I'm  going  to 
stay  right  here  with  you  till  Doc  comes.  I  '11  catch 
up  with  them  before  they  've  gone  far.  I  '11  send  word 
to  the  boys  not  to  wait.  Must  be  somebody  around 
the  house,  I  reckon,  besides  the  old  lady." 
[124] 


You  are  —  the  Boss 


He  started  cheerily  for  the  door. 

"  Mr.  Langford  !  " 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  Please  come  back." 

He  came  quickly  to  her. 

"What  is  it?11 

"  Mr.  Langford,  will  you  grant  me  a  favor  ?  " 

"Certainly,  Miss  Mary.  Anything  in  this  world 
that  I  can  do  for  you,  I  will  do.  You  know  that,  don't 
you  ?  " 

"  I  am  all  right  now.  I  don't  think  I  shall  get  crazy 
again  if  you  will  let  me  sit  here  by  this  window  and 
look  out.  If  I  can  watch  for  him,  it  will  give  me  some 
thing  to  do.  You  see,  I  could  be  watching  all  the 
time  for  the  party  to  come  back  over  that  little  rise  up 
the  road.  I  want  you  to  promise  me,"  she  went  on, 
steadily,  "  that  I  may  sit  here  and  wait  for  you  —  to 
come  back." 

"  God  knows  you  may,  little  girl,  anyway  till  Doc 
comes." 

"  You  are  wiser  than  Doc,"  pursued  the  girl.  "  He 
is  a  good  fellow,  but  foolish,  you  know,  sometimes.  He 
might  not  understand.  He  might  like  to  use  authority 
over  me  because  I  am  his  patient  —  when  he  did  not 
understand.  Promise  that  I  may  sit  up  till  you  come 
back." 

"  I  do  promise,  little  girl.  Tell  him  I  said  so.  Tell 
him  —  " 

[125] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  I  will  tell  him  you  are  —  the  Boss,"  she  said,  with 
a  pitiful  little  attempt  at  a  jest,  and  smiling  wanly. 
"He  will  mind  — the  Boss." 

Langford  was  in  agony.  Perspiration  was  springing 
out  on  his  forehead  though  August  was  wearing  away 
peacefully  in  soft  coolness  with  drifting  depths  of  white 
cloud  as  a  lounging-robe,  —  a  blessed  reprieve  from 
the  blazing  sun  of  the  long  weeks  which  had  gone 
before. 

"  And  then  I  want  you  to  promise  me,""  went  on 
Mary,  quietly,  "  that  you  will  not  think  any  more  of 
staying  behind.  I  could  not  bear  that.  I  trust  you 
to  go.  You  will,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will  go.  I  will  do  anything  you  say.  And 
I  want  you  to  believe  that  everything  will  be  all  right. 
They  would  not  dare  to  kill  him  now,  knowing  that 
we  are  after  them.  If  we  are  not  back  to-night,  you 
will  not  worry,  will  you  ?  They  had  so  much  the 
start  of  us." 

"  I  will  try  not  to  worry." 

"  Well,  good-bye.     Be  a  good  girl,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I  will  try,"  she  answered,  wearily. 

With  a  last  look  into  the  brave,  sweet  face,  and 
smothering  a  mad,  uncowman-like  desire  to  stay  and 
comfort  this  dear  little  woman  while  others  rode  away 
in  stirring  quest,  Langford  strode  from  the  sick-room 
into  the  kitchen. 

"  Don't  let  her  be  alone  any  more  than  you  oan  help, 
[126] 


'You  are  — the  Boss' 

Mother  White,"  he  said,  brusquely,  "  and  don't  worry 
her  about  going  to  bed."" 

"Have  a  bite  afore  you  start,  Mr.  Langford,  do," 
urged  the  good  woman,  hospitably.  "  You  're  that 
worn  out  you  're  white  around  the  gills.  I  '11  bet  you 
have  n't  had  ary  bite  o'  breakfast." 

"  I  had  forgotten  —  but  you  are  right.  No,  thank 
you,  I  '11  not  stop  for  anything  now.  I  '11  have  to  ride 
like  Kingdom  come.  I  'm  late.  Be  good  to  her, 
Mother  White,"  this  last  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
sprang  to  his  mount  from  the  kitchen  stoop. 

The  long  day  wore  along.  Mother  White  was 
baking.  The  men  would  be  ravenous  when  they  came 
back.  Many  would  stop  there  for  something  to  eat 
before  going  on  to  their  homes.  It  might  be  to-night, 
it  might  be  to-morrow,  it  might  not  be  until  the  day 
after,  but  whenever  the  time  did  come,  knowing  the 
men  of  the  range  country,  she  must  have  something 
"by  her."  The  pleasant  fragrance  of  new  bread  just 
from  the  oven,  mixed  with  the  faint,  spicy  odor  of 
'cinnamon  rolls,  floated  into  the  cheerless  sitting-room. 
Mary,  idly  watching  Mother  White  through  the  open 
door  as  she  bustled  about  in  a  wholesome-looking  blue- 
-  checked  gingham  apron,  longed  with  a  childish  intensity 
to  be  out  where  there  were  human  warmth  and  com 
panionship.  It  was  such  a  weary  struggle  to  keep  cob 
webs  out  of  her  head  in  that  lonely,  carpetless  sitting- 
room,  and  to  keep  the  pipe  that  reared  itself  above  the 
[127] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

squat  stove,  from  changing  into  a  cottonwood  tree. 
Some  calamity  seemed  to  hover  over  her  all  the  time. 
She  was  about  to  grasp  the  terrible  truth, —  she  knew 
she  must  look  around.  Now  some  one  was  creeping 
toward  her  from  under  the  bed.  Unless  she  stared 
it  out  of  countenance,  something  awful  would  surely 
come  to  pass. 

Mother  White  came  to  the  door  from  time  to  time 
to  ask  her  how  she  was,  with  floury  hands,  and  stove 
smutch  on  her  plump  cheek.  She  never  failed  to  break 
the  evil  spell.  But  Mary  was  weak,  and  Mrs.  White 
on  one  of  her  periodical  pauses  at  the  door  found  her 
sobbing  in  pitiful  self-abandonment.  She  went  to  her 
quickly,  her  face  full  of  concern. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  she  cried,  anxiously,  "  what  is 
it  ?  Tell  me.  Mr.  Langford  will  never  forgive  me.  I 
did  n't  mean  to  neglect  you,  child.  It  "s  only  that  I  'm 
plumb  a-foot  for  time.  Tell  me  what  ails  you  —  that's 
a  dearie."" 

Mary  laid  her  head  on  the  motherly  shoulder  and 
cried  quietly  for  a  while.  Then  she  looked  up  with 
the  faintest  ghost  of  a  smile. 

"  I  'm  ashamed  to  tell  you,  Mother  White,"  she  half 
whispered.  "  It  is  —  only  —  that  I  was  afraid  you 
had  n't  put  enough  cinnamon  in  the  rolls.  I  like 
cinnamon  rolls." 

"  Lord  love  the  child  ! "  gasped  Mrs.  White,  but 
without  the  least  inclination  to  laugh.  "  Why,  I 
[128] 


'You  are  — the  Boss' 

lit'rally  buried  'em  in  cinnamon.  I  could  n't  afford 
not  to.  If  I  do  say  it  who  should  n't,  my  rolls  is 
pretty  well  known  in  Kemah  County.  The  boys 
would  n't  stand  for  no  economizin'  in  spice.  No, 
sirree." 

She  hastened  wonderingly  back  to  her  kitchen,  only  to 
return  with  a  heaped-up  plate  of  sweet-smelling  rolls. 

"  Here  you  are,  honey,  and  they  won't  hurt  you  a 
mite.  I  can't  think  what  keeps  that  fool  Doc."  She 
was  getting  worried.  It  was  nearly  four  and  he  was 
not  even  in  sight. 

Now  that  she  had  them,  Mary  did  not  want  the 
rolls.  She  felt  they  would  choke  her.  She  waited 
until  her  kindly  neighbor  had  trotted  back  to  her 
household  cares,  and  pushed  the  plate  away.  She 
turned  to  her  window  with  an  exaggerated  feeling  of 
relief.  It  was  hard  to  watch  ceaselessly  for  some  one 
to  top  that  little  rise  out  yonder  and  yet  for  no  one 
ever  to  do  it.  But  there  were  compensations.  It  is 
really  better  sometimes  not  to  see  things  than  to  see 
—  some  things.  And  it  was  easier  to  keep  her  head 
clear  when  she  was  watching  the  road. 

A  younger  White,  an  over-grown  lad  of  twelve, 
came  in  from  far  afield.  He  carried  a  shot-gun  in  one 
ihand  and  a  gunny-sack  thrown  over  his  shoulder.  He 
slouched  up  and  deposited  the  contents  of  the  bag  in 
i  front  of  Mary's  window  with  a  bashful,  but  sociable 
grin.  Mary  nodded  approvingly,  and  the  boy  was  soon 
9  [  129  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

absorbed  in  dressing  the  fowls.      What  a  feast  there 
would  be  that  night  if  the  men  got  back ! 

At  last  came  the  doctor  and  Gordon,  driving  up  in 
the  doctor's  top-buggy,  weather-stained,  mud-bedaubed 
with  the  mud  of  last  Spring,  of  many  Springs.  The 
doctor  was  a  badly  dressed,  pleasant-eyed  man,  past 
middle  age,  with  a  fringe  of  gray  whiskers.  He  was 
a  sort  of  journeyman  doctor,  and  he  had  drifted  hither 
one  day  two  Summers  ago  from  the  Lake  Andes  country 
in  this  selfsame  travel-worn  conveyance  with  its  same 
bony  sorrel.  He  had  found  good  picking,  he  had  often 
jovially  remarked  since,  chewing  serenely  away  on  a 
brand  of  vile  plug  the  while.  He  had  elected  to 
remain.  He  was  part  and  parcel  of  the  cattle  country 
now.  He  was  an  established  condition.  People  had 
learned  to  accept  him  as  he  was  and  be  grateful. 
Haste  was  a  mental  and  physical  impossibility  to  him. 
He  took  his  own  time.  All  must  perforce  acquiesce. 

But  as  he  took  Mary's  wrist  between  well-shaped 
fingers  disfigured  with  long,  black  nails,  he  had  not 
been  able  as  yet  to  readjust  himself  to  old  conditions 
after  last  night's  grewsome  experience.  He  was  still 
walking  in  a  maze.  He  occasionally  even  forgot  the 
automatic  movement  of  his  jaws.  Ah,  little  doctor, 
something  untoward  must  have  happened  to  cause  you 
to  forget  that !  What  that  something  was  he  was 
thinking  about  now,  and  that  was  what  made  his  blue 
eyes  twinkle  so  merrily. 

[1301 


"  You  are  —  the  Boss  " 

Last  night,  —  was  it  only  last  night  ?  —  oh,  way, 
way  in  the  night,  when  ghosts  and  goblins  stalked 
abroad  and  all  good  people  were  safely  housed  and 
deeply  asleep,  there  had  come  a  goblin  to  his  door 
in  the  hotel,  and  cried  for  admittance  with  devilish 
persistence  and  wealth  of  language.  When  he,  the 
doctor,  had  desired  information  as  to  the  needs  of 
his  untimely  visitant,  the  shoulders  of  some  prehistoric 
giant  had  been  put  to  the  door,  and  it  had  fallen 
open  as  to  the  touch  of  magic.  A  dazzling  and 
nether- world  light  had  flamed  up  in  his  room,  and 
this  Hercules-goblin  with  lock-destroying  tendencies 
had  commanded  him  to  clothe  himself,  with  such 
insistency  that  the  mantle  of  nimbleness  had  descended 
upon  all  the  little  doctor's  movements.  That  this 
marvellous  agility  was  the  result,  pure  and  simple, 
of  black  arts,  was  shown  by  the  fact  that  the  little 
doctor  was  in  a  daze  all  the  rest  of  the  night.  He 
did  not  even  make  show  of  undue  astonishment  or 
nervousness  when,  clothed  in  some  wonderful  and 
haphazard  fashion,  he  was  escorted  through  the  dimly 
lit  hall,  down  the  dark  stairway,  past  the  office  where 
a  night-lamp  burned  dully,  out  into  the  cool  night  air 
and  into  the  yawning  depths  of  a  mysterious  vehicle 
which  rattled  with  a  suspiciously  familiar  rattle  when 
it  suddenly  plunged  into  what  seemed  like  everlasting 
darkness  ahead.  He  had  felt  a  trifle  more  like  himself 
after  he  had  unconsciously  rammed  his  hand  through 
[131] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

the  rent  in  the  cushion  where  the  hair  stuffing  was 
coming  out.  But  he  had  not  been  permitted  the 
reins,  so  he  could  not  be  sure  if  they  were  tied  to 
gether  with  a  piece  of  old  suspender  or  not;  and  if 
that  was  Old  Sorrel,  he  certainly  had  powers  of  speed 
hitherto  unsuspected. 

Witchcraft  ?  Ay  !  Had  not  he,  the  little  doctor, 
heard  ghostly  hoof-beats  alongside  all  the  way  ?  It 
had  been  nerve-racking.  Sometimes  he  had  thought 
it  might  just  be  a  cow  pony,  but  he  could  not  be  sure ; 
and  when  he  had  been  tossed  profanely  and  with  no 
dignity  into  the  house  of  one  White,  homesteader,  with 
the  enigmatical  words,  "  There,  damn  ye,  Doc !  I  reckon 
ye  got  a  move  on  once  in  your  life,  anyway,"  the  voice 
had  sounded  uncannily  like  that  of  one  Jim  Munson, 
cow-puncher;  but  that  was  doubtless  a  hallucination 
of  his,  brought  about  by  the  unusualness  of  the 
night's  adventures. 

"  You  have  worked  yourself  into  a  high  fever,  Miss 
Williston,  that 's  what  you  've  done,"  he  said,  with 
professional  mournfulness. 

"I  know  it,"  she  smiled,  wanly.  "I  couldn't  help 
it.  I'm  sorry." 

Gordon  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down  by  her,  saying 
with  grave  kindness,  "  You  are  fretting.  We  must  not 
let  you.  I  am  going  to  stay  with  you  all  night  and 
shoo  the  goblins  away." 

"  You  are  kind,"  said  Mary,  gratefully.  «  May  I  tell 
[132] 


•'You  are  — the  Boss' 

you  when  they  come  ?  If  some  one  speaks  to  me,  they 
go  away." 

"  Indeed  you  may,  dear  child,"  he  exclaimed,  heartily. 
He  had  been  half  joking  when  he  spoke  of  keeping 
things  away.  He  now  perceived  that  these  things 
were  more  serious  than  he  knew. 

The  doctor  administered  medicine  to  reduce  the 
fever,  dressed  the  wounded  arm,  with  Gordon's  ready 
assistance,  and  then  called  in  Mother  White  to  pre 
pare  the  bed  for  his  patient ;  but  he  paused  non 
plussed  before  the  weight  of  entreaty  in  Mary's  eyes 
and  voice. 

"  Please  don't,"  she  cried  out,  in  actual  terror.  "  Oh, 
Mr.  Gordon,  don't  let  him  !  I  see  such  awful  things 
when  I  lie  down.  Please !  Please !  And  Mr.  Lang- 
ford  said  I  might  sit  up  till  he  came.  Mr.  Gordon, 
you  will  not  let  him  put  me  to  bed,  will  you  ? " 

"  I  think  it  will  be  better  to  let  her  have  her  way, 
Lockhart,"  said  Gordon,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Mebbe  it  would,  Dick,"  said  the  doctor,  with  sur 
prising  meekness. 

"  1 11  stay  all  night  and  I  '11  take  good  care  of  her, 
Lockhart.  There 's  Mother  White  beckoning  to  supper. 
You  '11  eat  before  you  go  ?  No,  I  won't  take  any  sup 
per  now,  thank  you,  mother,  I  will  stay  with  Mary." 

And  he  did  stay  with  her  all  through  the  long 
watches  of  that  long  night.  He  never  closed  his  eyes 
in  sleep.  Sometimes,  Mary  would  drop  off  into  uneasy 
[133] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

slumber  —  always  of  short  duration.  When  she  awak 
ened  suddenly  in  wide-eyed  fright,  he  soothed  her  with 
all  tenderness.  Sometimes  when  he  thought  she  was 
sleeping,  she  would  clutch  his  arm  desperately  and  cry 
out  that  there  was  some  one  behind  the  big  cotton- 
wood.  Again  it  would  be  to  ask  him  in  a  terrified 
whisper  if  he  did  not  hear  hoof-beats,  galloping,  gal 
loping,  galloping,  and  begged  him  to  listen.  He  could 
always  quiet  her,  and  she  tried  hard  to  keep  from  wan 
dering;  but  after  a  short,  broken  rest,  she  would  cry 
out  again  in  endless  repetition  of  the  terrors  of  that 
awful  night. 

Mrs.  White  and  several  of  her  small  progeny  breathed 
loudly  from  an  adjoining  room.  A  lamp  burned  dimly 
on  the  table.  It  grew  late  —  twelve  o'clock  and  after. 
At  last  she  rested.  She  passed  from  light,  broken 
slumber  to  deep  sleep  without  crying  out  and  thus 
awakening  herself.  Gordon  was  tired  and  sad.  Now 
that  the  flush  of  fever  was  gone,  he  saw  how  white  and 
miserable  she  really  looked.  The  circles  under  her 
eyes  were  so  dark  they  were  like  bruises.  The  mantle 
of  his  misfortune  was  spreading  to  bring  others  besides 
himself  into  its  sombre  folds. 

The  men  were  coming  back.  But  they  were  coming 
quietly,  in  grim  silence.  He  dared  not  awaken  Mary 
for  the  news  he  knew  they  must  carry.  He  stepped 
noiselessly  to  the  door  to  warn  them  to  a  yet  greater 
stillness,  and  met  Langford  on  the  threshold. 
[  134] 


'You  are  — the  Boss' 

The  two  surveyed  each  other  gravely  with  clasped 
hands. 

"  You  tell  her,  Dick.  I  —  I  can't,11  said  Lang- 
ford.  His  big  shoulders  drooped  as  under  a  heavy 
burden. 

"  Must  I  ?  "  asked  Gordon, 

"  Dick,  I  —  I  can't,"  said  Langford,  brokenly. 
"  Don't  you  see?  —  if  I  had  been  just  a  minute  sooner 
—  and  I  promised." 

"Yes,  I  see,  Paul,"  said  Gordon,  quietly.  "I  will 
tell  her." 

"  You  need  not,"  said  a  sweet  clear  voice  from  across 
the  room.  "I  know.  I  heard.  I  think  I  knew  all 
'the  time  —  but  you  were  all  so  good  to  make  me 
jhope.  Don't  worry  about  me  any  more,  dear  friends. 
;I  am  all  right  now.  It  is  much  better  to  know.  I 
hope  they  did  n't  hang  him.  You  think  they  shot 
him,  don't  you?" 

"Little  girl,  little  girl,"  cried  Langford,  on  his 
iknees  beside  her,  "  it  is  not  that !  It  is  only  that  we 
^have  not  found  him.  But  no  news  is  good  news.  That 
•we  have  found  no  trace  proves  that  they  have  to  guard 
thim  well  because  he  is  alive.  We  are  going  on  a  new 
tack  to-morrow.  Believe  me,  little  girl,  and  go  to  bed 
now,  won't  you,  and  rest  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  wearily,  as  one  in  whom  no  hope 
was  left,  "  I  will  go.  I  will  mind  —  the  Boss." 

As    he    laid    her    gently   on    the   bed,    while   Mrs. 
[135] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

White,  aroused  from  sleep,  fluttered  aimlessly  and 
drowsily  about,  he  whispered,  his  breath  caressing  her 
cheek  : 

"  You  will  go  to  sleep  right  away,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I  will  try.     You  are  the  Boss.1' 


[136] 


CHAPTER  XII 

WAITING 

\Y  |  ^HE  man  found  dead  the  night  the  Lazy  S  was 

I  burned  out  was  not  easily  identified.  He  was  a 
half-breed,  but  half-breeds  were  many  west  of 
-the  river,  and  the  places  where  they  laid  their  heads 
rat  night  were  as  shifting  as  the  sands  of  that  rapid, 
ominous,  changing  stream  of  theirs,  which  ever  cut 
them  off  from  the  world  of  their  fathers  and  kept  them 
bound,  but  restless,  chafing,  in  that  same  land  where 
their  mothers  had  stared  stolidly  at  a  strange  little 
boat-load  tugging  up  the  river  that  was  the  fore 
runner  of  the  ultimate  destiny  of  this  broad  north- 
west  country,  but  which  brought  incidentally  —  as 
do  all  big  destinies  in  the  great  scheme  bring  sor 
row  to  some  one  —  wrong,  misunderstanding,  forget- 
fulness,  to  a  once  proud,  free  people  now  in  subjection. 

At  last  the  authorities  found  trace  of  him  far  away 
at  Standing  Rock,  through  the  agent  there,  who  knew 
him  as  of  an  ugly  reputation,  —  a  dissipated,  roving 
profligate,  who  had  long  since  squandered  his  govern- 

ent  patrimony.  He  had  been  mixed  up  in  sundry 
bad  affairs  in  the  past,  and  had  been  an  inveterate 

mbler.  So  much  only  were  the  Kemah  County 
[  137  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

authorities  able  to  uncover  of  the  wayward  earthly 
career  of  the  dead  man.  Of  his  haunts  and  cronies 
of  the  period  immediately  preceding  his  death,  the 
agent  could  tell  nothing.  He  had  not  been  seen  at 
the  agency  for  nearly  a  year.  The  reprobate  band 
had  covered  its  tracks  well.  There  was  nothing  to 
do  but  lay  the  dead  body  away  and  shovel  oblivion 
over  its  secret. 

In  the  early  morning  after  the  return  of  the  men 
from  their  unsuccessful  man  hunt,  Gordon,  gray  and 
haggard  from  loss  of  sleep  and  from  hard  thought, 
stepped  out  into  the  kitchen  to  stretch  his  cramped 
limbs.  He  stumbled  over  the  figure  of  Langford  prone 
upon  the  floor,  dead  asleep  in  utter  exhaustion.  He 
smiled  understandingly  and  opened  the  outer  door 
quietly,  hoping  he  had  not  aroused  the  worn-out 
Boss.  The  air  was  fresh  and  cool,  with  a  hint  of 
Autumn  sharpness,  and  a  premature  Indian  Summer 
haze,  that  softened  the  gauntness  of  the  landscape,  and 
made  the  distances  blue  and  rest-giving.  He  felt  the 
need  of  invigoration  after  his  night's  vigil,  and  struck 
off  down  the  road  with  long  strides,  in  pleasant 
anticipation  of  a  coming  appetite  for  breakfast. 

Thus  it  was  that  Langford,  struggling  to  a  sitting 

posture,  rubbing  his  heavy  eyes  with  a  dim  consciousness 

that  he  had  been  disturbed,  and  wondering  drowsily  why 

he  was  so  stupid,  felt  something  seeping  through  his 

[138] 


Waiting 

senses  that  told  him  he  did  not  do  well  to  sleep.  So 
he  decided  he  would  take  a  plunge  into  the  cold  artesian 
pond,  and  with  such  drastic  measures  banish  once  and 
for  all  the  elusive  yet  all-pervading  cobwebs  which 
clung  to  him.  Rising  to  his  feet  with  unusual  awk 
wardness,  he  looked  with  scorn  upon  the  bare  floor  and 
accused  it  blindly  and  bitterly  as  the  direct  cause  of 
the  strange  soreness  that  beset  his  whole  anatomy. 
The  lay  of  the  floor  had  changed  in  a  night.  Where 
was  he  ?  He  glanced  helplessly  about.  Then  he  knew. 

Thus  it  was,  that  when  Mary  languidly  opened  her 
eyes  a  little  later,  it  was  the  Boss  who  sat  beside 
ler  and  smiled  reassuringly. 

"  You  have  not  slept  a  wink,"  she  cried,  accusingly. 

"Indeed  I  have,"  he  said.  "Three  whole  hours. 
I  feel  tip-top." 

"  You  are  —  fibbing,"  she  said.  "  Your  eyes  look  so 
tired,  and  your  face  is  all  worn." 

His   heart   leaped  with   the  joy   of  her   solicitude. 

"  You  are  wrong,"  he  laughed,  teasingly.  "  I  slept 
on  the  floor;  and  a  good  bed  it  was,  too.  No,  Miss 
Williston,  I  am  not  '  all  in '  yet,  by  any  means." 

In  his  new  consciousness,  a  new  formality  crept  into 
his  way  of  addressing  her.  She  did  not  seem  to 
notice  it. 

"Forgive  me  for  forgetting,  last  night,"  she  said, 
earnestly.  "I  was  very  selfish.  I  forgot  that  you 
had  not  slept  for  nearly  two  days,  and  were  riding 
[139] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

all  the  while  in  —  our  behalf.  I  forgot.  I  was  tired, 
and  I  went  to  sleep.  I  want  you  to  forgive  me.  I 
want  you  to  believe  that  I  do  appreciate  what  you 
have  done.  My  father  —  " 

"  Don't,  don't,  little  girl,"  cried  Langford,  forgetting 
his  new  awe  of  her  maidenhood  in  his  pity  for  the 
stricken  child. 

"  My  father,""  she  went  on,  steadily,  "  would  thank 
you  if  he  were  here.  I  thank  you,  too,  even  if  I  die 
forget  to  think  whether  or  no  you  and  all  the  mer 
had  any  sleep  or  anything  to  eat  last  night.  Will  yoL 
try  to  believe  that  I  did  not  forget  wittingly  ?  I  was 
so  tired." 

When  Langford  answered  her,  which  was  not  imme 
diately,  his  face  was  white  and  he  spoke  quietly  with  £ 
touch  of  injured  pride. 

"  If  you  want  to  hurt  us,  Miss  Williston,  that  is  the 
way  to  talk.  We  cowmen  do  not  do  things  foi 
thanks." 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly  a  moment,  then  said, 
simply,  "  Forgive  me,"  but  her  lips  were  trembling  and 
she  turned  to  the  wall  to  hide  the  tears  that  would 
come.  After  all,  she  was  only  a  woman  —  with  nerves 
—  and  the  reaction  had  come.  She  had  been  brave,  but 
a  girl  cannot  bear  everything.  She  sobbed.  That  was 
too  much  for  Langford  and  his  dignity.  He  bent  over 
her,  all  his  heart  in  his  honest  eyes  and  broken  voice. 

"  Now  you  will  kill  me  if  you  don't  stop  it.  I  am 
[140] 


Waiting 

i  ill  sorts  of  a  brute  —  oh,  deuce  take  me  for  a  blunder- 
ng  idiot !     I  did  n't  mean  it  —  honest  I  did  n't.     You 
»vill  believe  me,  won't  you  ?     There  is  nothing  in  the 
world  I  would  n't  do  for  you,  little  girl."' 
She  was  sobbing  uncontrollably  now. 
"  Mr.  Langford,"  she   cried,   turning   to  him  with 
something  of  the  past  horror  creeping  again  into  her 
ret  eyes,  "  do  you  think  I  killed  —  that  man  ?  " 

"  What  man  ?     There  was  only  one  man  killed,  and 
ne  of  my  boys  potted  him  on  the  run,"  he  said. 
"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  she  breathed,  in  quick  relief. 
"  Dead  sure,"  convincingly. 

"  And  yet,"  she  sobbed,  memory  coming  back  with  a 
ush,  "  I  wish  —  I  wish  —  I  had  killed  them  all." 

"  So  do  I ! "  he  agreed,  so  forcefully  that  she  could 
>ut  smile  a  little,  gratefully.  She  said,  with  just  the 
aintest  suggestion  of  color  in  her  white  cheeks  : 

'  Where  is  everybody  ?  Have  you  been  sitting  with 
ne  long  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  White  is  getting  breakfast,  and  I  have  n't 
•een  sitting  with  you  as  long  as  I  wish  I  had,"  he 
nswered,  boldly ;  and  then  added,  regretfully,  "  Dick 
ras  the  man  who  had  the  luck  to  watch  over  you  all 
ight.  I  went  to  sleep." 

"  You    were    so    tired,"    she    said,   sympathizingly. 
And  besides,  I  did  n't  need  anything." 
"  It  is  good  of  you  to  put  it  that  way,"  he  said,  his 
eart  cutting  capers  again. 

[141] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  Mr.  Gordon  is  the  best  man  I  know,"  she  said, 
thoughtfully. 

"  There  you  are  right,  Miss  Williston,"  he  assented, 
heartily,  despite  a  quick  little  sting  of  jealousy.  "  He 
is  the  best  man  I  know.  I  wish  you  would  shake  hands 
on  that  —  will  you  ?  " 

«  Surely." 

He  held  the  smooth  brown  hand  in  his  firmly  with 
no  thought  of  letting  it  go  —  yet. 

"  I  am  not  such  a  bad  chap  myself,  you  know,  Miss 
Williston,"  he  jested,  his  bold  eyes  flashing  a  challenge. 

"  I  know  it,"  she  said,  simply.  "  I  do  not  know 
what  I  should  do  without  you.  You  will  be  good  to 
me  always,  won't  you  ?  There  is  no  one  but  me  — 
now." 

She  was  looking  at  him  trustingly,  confident  of  his 
friendship,  innocent,  he  knew,  of  any  feminine  wile  in 
this  her  dark  hour.  The  sweetness  of  it  went  to  his 
head.  He  forgot  that  she  was  in  sorrow  he  could  not 
cure,  forgot  that  she  was  looking  to  him  in  all  proba 
bility  only  as  the  possible  saviour  of  her  father.  He 
forgot  everything  except  the  fact  that  there  was  noth 
ing  in  all  the  world  worth  while  but  this  brown-eyed, 
white-cheeked,  grieving  girl,  and  he  went  mad  with  the 
quick  knowledge  thereof.  He  held  the  hand  he  had  not 
released  to  his  face,  brushed  it  against  his  lips,  caressed 
it  against  his  breast ;  then  he  bent  forward  —  close  — 
and  whispering,  "  I  will  be  good  to  you  —  always  — 
[142] 


Waiting 

little  girl,"  kissed  her  on  the  forehead  and  was  gone  just 
as  Gordon,  filled  with  the  life  of  the  new  day,  came 
swinging  into  the  house  for  his  well-earned  breakfast. 

The  sheriff  and  his  party  of  deputies  made  a  dili- 
igent  search  for  Williston  that  day  and  for  many  days 
)to  come.     It  was  of  no  avail.     He  had  disappeared,  and 
all  trace  with  him,   as   completely  as  if  he  had  been 
spirited  away  in   the  night  to  another  world  —  body 
and   soul.     That  the  soul  of  him  had  really  gone  to 
another  world  came  to  be  generally  believed  —  Mary 
held  no  hope  after  the  return  of  the  first  expedition  ; 
but  why  could  they  find  no  trace  of  his  body  ?     Where 
was  it  ?     Where  had  it  found  a  resting  place  ?     Was  it 
possible    for  a  man,  quick   or  dead,  even  west  of  the 
river  in  an  early  day  of  its  civilization  when  the  law 
had  a  winking  eye,  to  fall  away  from  his  wonted  haunts 
tin  a  night  and  leave  no  print,  neither  a  bone  nor  a  rag 
[nor  a  memory,  to  give  mute  witness  that  this  way  he 
passed,  that  way  he  rested  a  bit,  here  he  took  horse, 
;here  he  slept,  with  this  man  he  had  converse,  that  man 
>aw  his  still  body  borne  hence?     Could  such  a  thing 
?     It  seemed  so. 

After  a  gallant  and  dauntless  search,  which  lasted 
trough  the  best  days  of  September,  Langford  was 
breed  to  let  cold  reason  have  its  sway.  He  had 
:hought,  honestly,  that  the  ruffians  would  not  dare 
immit  murder,  knowing  that  they  were  being  pur- 
ued ;  but  now  he  was  forced  to  the  opinion  that  they 
[  143  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

had  dared  the  worst,  after  all.  For,  though  it  would  be 
hard  to  hide  all  trace  of  a  dead  man,  infinitely  greater 
would  be  the  difficulty  in  covering  the  trail  of  a  living 
one,  —  one  who  must  eat  and  drink,  who  had  a  mouth 
to  be  silenced  and  strength  to  be  restrained.  It  came 
gradually  to  him,  the  belief  that  Willis  ton  was  dead ; 
but  it  came  surely.  With  it  came  the  jeer  of  the  spectre 
that  would  not  let  him  forget  that  he  should  have  fore 
seen  what  would  surely  happen.  With  it  came  also  a 
great  tenderness  for  Mary,  and  a  redoubled  vigilance 
to  keep  his  unruly  tongue  from  blurting  out  things 
that  would  hurt  her  who  was  looking  to  him,  in  the 
serene  confidence  in  his  good  friendship,  for  brotherly 
counsel  and  comfort. 

In  the  first  dark  days  of  his  new  belief,  he  spoke  to 
Gordon,  and  the  young  lawyer  had  written  a  second 
letter  to  the  "  gal  reporter."  In  response,  she  came  at 
once  to  Kemah  and  from  thence  to  the  White  homestead 
in  the  Boss's  "  own  private."  This  time  the  Boss  did 
the  driving  himself,  bringing  consternation  to  the 
heart  of  one  Jim  Munson,  cow-puncher,  who  viewed 
the  advent  of  her  and  her  "  mouse-colored  hair "  with 
serious  trepidation  and  alarm.  What  he  had  dreaded 
had  come  to  pass.  'T  was  but  a  step  now  to  the 
Three  Bars.  A  fussy  woman  would  be  the  means  of 
again  losing  man  his  Eden.  It  was  monstrous.  He 
sulked,  aggrievedly,  systematically. 

Louise    slipped    into    the   sad   life   at   the   Whites'* 


Waiting 

easily,  sweetly,  adaptably.  Mary  rallied  under  her 
gentle  ministrations.  There  was  —  would  ever  be  — 
a  haunting  pathos  in  the  dark  eyes,  but  she  arose  from 
her  bed,  grateful  for  any  kindness  shown  her,  strong 
in  her  determination  not  to  be  a  trouble  to  any  one 
by  giving  way  to  weak  and  unavailing  tears.  If  she 
ever  cried,  it  was  in  the  night,  when  no  one  knew. 
Even  Louise,  who  slept  with  her,  did  not  suspect  the 
truth  for  some  time.  But  one  night  she  sat  straight 
up  in  bed  suddenly,  out  of  her  sleep,  with  an  indefinable 
intuition  that  it  would  be  well  for  her  to  be  awake. 
Mary  was  lying  in  a  strange,  unnatural  quiet.  In 
stinctively  Louise  reached  out  a  gentle,  consoling  hand 
to  her.  She  was  right.  Mary  was  not  sleeping.  The 
following  night  the  same  thing  happened,  and  the  next 
night  also ;  but  one  night  when  she  reached  over  to 
comfort,  she  found  her  gentle  intention  frustrated  by 
a  pillow  under  which  Mary  had  hidden  her  head  while 
she  gave  way  guardedly  to  her  pent-up  grief. 

Louise  changed  her  tactics.  She  took  Mary  on  long 
walks  over  the  prairie,  endeavoring  to  fatigue  her  into 
sleep.  The  length  of  these  jaunts  grew  gradually  and 
systematically.  It  came  at  last  to  be  an  established 
order  of  the  day  for  the  two  girls  to  strike  off  early, 
with  a  box  of  luncheon  strapped  over  Louise's  shoulder, 
for  —  nowhere  in  particular,  but  always  somewhere  that 
consumed  the  better  part  of  the  day  in  the  going  and 
coming.  Sometimes  the  hills  and  bluffs  of  the  river 
10  [  145  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

region  drew  them.  Sometimes  a  woman's  whim  made 
them  hold  to  a  straight  line  over  the  level  distance 
for  the  pure  satisfaction  of  watching  the  horizon  across 
illimitable  space  remain  stationary  and  changeless, 
despite  their  puny  efforts  to  stride  the  nearer  to  it. 
Sometimes,  when  they  chose  the  level,  they  played,  like 
children,  that  they  would  walk  and  walk  till  the  low- 
lying  horizon  had  to  change,  until  out  of  its  hazy 
enchantment  rose  mountain-peaks  and  forests  and  val 
leys  and  cities.  It  proved  an  alluring  game.  A  great 
and  abiding  friendship  grew  out  of  this  wanderlust, 
cemented  by  a  loneliness  that  each  girl  carried  closely 
in  the  innermost  recesses  of  her  heart  and  guarded 
jealously  there.  It  was  a  like  loneliness  in  the  little 
ness  and  atom-like  inconsequence  of  self  each  must  hug 
to  her  breast,  —  and  yet,  how  unlike  !  Louise  was  alone 
in  a  strange,  big  land,  but  there  was  home  for  her  some-  \ 
where,  and  kin  of  her  own  kind  to  whom  she  might  flee 
when  the  weight  of  alienism  pressed  too  sorely.  But 
Mary  was  alone  in  her  own  land ;  there  was  nowhere 
to  flee  to  when  her  heart  rebelled  and  cried  out  in  the 
bitterness  of  its  loneliness ;  this  was  her  home,  and  she 
was  alone  in  it. 

Louise  learned  to  love  the  plains  country.  She  rev 
elled  in  its  winds;  the  high  ones,  blowing  bold  and 
free  with  their  call  to  throw  off  lethargy  and  stay  fromj 
drifting  ;  the  low  ones,  sighing  and  rustling  through  the] 
already  dead  grass  —  a  mournful  and  whispering  lament) 
[  146  ] 


LOVED  TO   CLIMB   TO  THE    SUMMIT   OF  ONE   OF   THE    BARKEN    HILLS 
FLANKING  THE  RIVEU,  AND  STAND  THERE  WHILE  THE  WIND  BLEW. 


Waiting 

for  the  Summer  gone.  She  had  thought  to  become 
reconciled  to  the  winds  the  last  of  all.  She  was  a  prim 
little  soul  with  all  her  sweet  graciousness,  and  dearly 
desired  her  fair  hair  ever  to  be  in  smooth  and  decorous 
coil  or  plait.  Strangely  enough,  the  winds  won  her  first 
allegiance.  She  loved  to  climb  to  the  summit  of  one 
of  the  barren  hills  flanking  the  river  and  stand  there 
while  the  wind  just  blew  and  blew.  Loosened  tendrils 
of  hair  bothered  her  little  these  days.  She  relegated 
hats  and  puny,  impotent  hat-pins  to  oblivion.  Her 
hair  roughened  and  her  fair  skin  tanned,  but  neither 
did  these  things  bother  her.  It  was  the  strength  of 
the  wind  and  the  freedom,  and  because  it  might  blow 
where  it  listed  without  regard  to  the  arbitrary  and  self- 
important  will  of  strutting  man,  that  enthralled  her 
imagination.  It  came  about  that  the  bigness  and  lone 
liness  of  this  big  country  assumed  a  like  aspect.  It 
was  not  yet  subjugated.  The  vastness  of  it  and  the 
untrammelled  freedom  of  it,  though  it  took  her  girl's 
breath  away,  was  to  dwell  with  her  forever,  a  sublime 
memory,  even  when  the  cow  country  —  unsubjugated  — — 
was  only  a  retrospection  of  silver  hairs. 

Mary,  because  of  her  abounding  health,  healed  of  her 
wound  rapidly.  Langford  took  advantage  of  the  girls' 
absorption  in  each  other's  company  to  ride  often  and 
length  on  quests  of  his  own  creation.  With  Octo- 
r,  Louise  must  join  Judge  Dale  for  the  Autumn 
>rm  of  court.  He  haunted  the  hills.  He  was  not 
[147] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

looking  now  for  a  living  man ;  he  was  seeking  a  clev 
erly  concealed  grave.  He  flouted  the  opinion  —  held 
by  many  —  that  the  body  had  been  thrown  into  the 
Missouri  and  would  wash  ashore  some  later  day  many 
and  many  a  mile  below.  He  held  firmly  to  his  fixed 
idea  that  impenetrable  mystery  clouding  the  ultimate 
close  of  Willis  ton's  earthly  career  was  the  sought  aim 
of  his  murderers,  and  they  would  risk  no  river's  giv 
ing  up  its  dead  to  their  undoing. 

It  had  been  ascertained  beyond  reasonable  doubt 
that  Williston  could  not  have  left  the  country  in  any 
of  the  usual  modes.  His  description  was  at  all  the 
stations  along  the  line,  together  with  the  theory  that 
he  would  be  leaving  under  compulsion. 

Meanwhile,  Gordon  had  buckled  down  for  the  big 
fight.  He  was  sadly  handicapped,  with  the  whole  prop 
of  his  testimony  struck  from  under  him  by  Williston's 
disappearance.  However,  those  who  knew  him  best  — 
the  number  was  not  large  —  looked  for  things  to  hap 
pen  in  those  days.  They,  the  few,  the  courageous 
minority,  through  all  the  ups  and  downs  —  with  the 
balance  in  favor  of  the  downs  most  of  the  time  — 
of  the  hardest-fought  battle  of  his  life,  the  end  of 
which  left  him  gray  at  the  temples,  maintained  a 
deep  and  abiding  faith  in  this  quiet,  unassuming 
young  man,  who  had  squared  his  shoulders  to  this 
new  paralyzing  blow  and  refused  to  be  knocked  out, 
who  walked  with  them  and  talked  with  them,  but 
[148] 


Waiting 

kept  his  own  counsel,  abided  his  time,  and  in  the 
meantime  —  worked. 

One  day,  Langford  was  closeted  with  him  for  a  long 
two  hours  in  his  dingy,  one-roomed  office  on  the  ground 
floor.  The  building  was  a  plain  wooden  affair  with  its 
square  front  rising  above  the  roof.  In  the  rear  was  a 
lean-to  where  Gordon  slept  and  had  his  few  hours  of 
privacy. 

"  It  won't  do,  Paul,"  Gordon  said  in  conclusion.  "  I 
have  thought  it  all  out.  We  have  absolutely  nothing 
to  go  upon  —  nothing  at  least  but  our  own  convictions 
and  a  bandaged  arm,  and  they  won't  hang  a  man  with 
Jesse's  diabolical  influence.  We  '11  fight  it  out  on  the 
sole  question  of  '  Mag,'  Paul.  After  that  —  well  — 
who  knows?  Something  else  may  turn  up.  There 
may  be  developments.  Meanwhile,  just  wait.  There 
will  be  justice  for  Willis  ton  yet." 


[149] 


CHAPTER   XIII 

MRS.   HIGGINS   RALLIES  TO  HER  COLORS 

THE  Kemah  County  Court  convened  on  a  Tues 
day,  the  second  week  in  December.  The  Judge 
coming  with  his  court  reporter  to  Velpen  on 
Monday  found  the  river  still  open.  December  had 
crept  softly  to  its  appointed  place  in  the  march  of 
months  with  a  gentle  heralding  of  warm,  southwest 
winds. 

"Weather  breeder,"  said  Mrs.  Higgins  of  the  Bon 
Ami,  with  a  mournful  shake  of  her  head.  "  You  mark 
my  words  and  remember  I  said  it.  It 's  a  sorry  day  for 
the  cows  when  the  river 's  running  in  December.*" 

She  was  serving  the  judicial  party  herself,  and  capa 
bly,  too.  She  dearly  loved  the  time  the  courts  met,  on 
either  side  of  the  river.  It  brought  many  interesting 
people  to  the  Bon  Ami,  although  not  often  the  Judge. 
His  coming  for  supper  was  a  most  unusual  honor,  and 
it  was  due  to  Louise,  who  had  playfully  insisted.  He 
had  humored  her  much  against  his  will,  it  must  be  con 
fessed;  for  he  had  a  deeply  worn  habit  of  making 
straight  for  the  hotel  from  the  station  and  there 
remaining  until  Hank  Bruebacher,  liveryman,  who 
never  permitted  anything  to  interfere  with  or  any  one 
[150] 


Mrs.  Higgins  Rallies  to  her  Colors 

to  usurp  his  prerogative  of  driving  his  honor  to  and 
from  Kemah  when  court  was  in  session,  whistled  with 
shameless  familiarity  the  following  morning  to  make 
his  honor  cognizant  of  the  fact  that  he,  Hank,  was 
ready.  But  he  had  come  to  the  Bon  Ami  because 
Louise  wished  it,  and  he  reflected  whimsically  on  the 
astonishment,  amounting  almost  to  horror,  on  the  face 
of  his  good  landlord  at  the  Velpen  House  when  it 
became  an  assured  fact  that  he  was  not  and  had  not 
been  in  the  dining-room. 

"  You  are  right,  Mrs.  Higgins,"  assented  the  Judge 
gravely  to  her  weather  predictions,  "  and  the  supper 
you  have  prepared  for  us  is  worthy  the  hand  that 
serves  it.  Kings  and  potentates  could  ask  no  better. 
Louise,  dear  child,  I  am  fond  of  you  and  I  hope  you 
will  never  go  back  East." 

"  Thank  you,  Uncle  Hammond,"  said  Louise,  who 
knew  that  an  amusing  thought  was  seeping  through 
this  declaration  of  affection.  "  I  am  sorry  to  give  you 
a  heartache,  but  I  am  going  back  to  God's  country 
some  day,  nevertheless." 

"  Maybe  so  —  maybe  not,"  said  the  Judge.  "  Mrs. 
Higgins,  my  good  woman,  how  is  our  friend,  the 
canker-worm,  coming  on  these  days  ?  " 

"  Canker-worm  ?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Higgins.  "  Meanin\ 
your  honor  —  " 

"  Just    what  I    say  —  canker-worm.      Is  n't    he    the 
worm  gnawing  in  discontent  at  the  very  core  of  the 
[151] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

fair  fruit  of  established  order  and  peace  in  the  cow 
country  ? " 

"I  —  I  —  don't  understand,  your  honor,"  faltered 
the  woman,  in  great  trepidation.  Would  his  honor 
consider  her  a  hopeless  stupid?  But  what  was  the 
man  talking  about?  Louise  looked  up,  a  flush  of 
color  staining  her  cheeks. 

"  Maybe  fire-brand  would  suit  you  better,  madame  ? 
My  young  friend,  the  fire-brand,"  resumed  the  Judge, 
rising.  "  That  is  good  —  fire-brand.  Is  he  not  inciting 
the  populace  to  '  open  rebellion,  false  doctrine,  and 
schism'?  Is  it  not  because  of  him  that  roofs  are 
burned  over  the  very  heads  of  the  helpless  home 
steader  ?  " 

"For  shame,  Uncle  Hammond,"  exclaimed  Louise, 
still  flushed  and  with  a  mutinous  little  sparkle  in  her 
eyes.  "  You  are  poking  fun  at  me.  You  have  n't  any 
right  to,  you  know  ;  but  that 's  your  way.  I  don't  care, 
but  Mrs.  Higgins  does  n't  understand." 

"  Don't  you,  Mrs.  Higgins  ?  "  asked  the  Judge. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  snapped  Mrs.  Higgins,  and  she  did  n't, 
but  she  thought  she  did.  "  Only  if  you  mean  Mr. 
Richard  Gordon,  I  '11  tell  you  now  there  ain't  no  one 
in  this  here  God-forsaken  country  who  can  hold  a 
tallow  candle  to  him.  Just  put  that  in  your  pipe  and 
smoke  it,  will  you  ?  " 

She  piled  up  dishes  viciously.  She  did  not  wait  for 
her  guests  to  depart  before  she  began  demolishing  the 
[153] 


Mrs.  Higgins  Rallies  to  her  Colors 

table.  It  was  a  tremendous  breach  of  etiquette,  but 
she  did  n't  care.  To  have  an  ideal  shattered  ruthlessly 
is  ever  a  heart-breaking  thing. 

"But  my  dear  Mrs.  Higgins,"  expostulated  the 
Judge. 

"  You  need  n't,"  said  that  lady,  shortly.  "  I  don't 
care,"  she  went  on, "  if  the  president  himself  or  an  arch 
angel  from  heaven  came  down  here  and  plastered  Dick 
Gordon  with  bad-smellin'  names  from  the  crown  of  his 
little  toe  to  the  tip  of  his  head,  I  'd  tell  'em  to  their 
very  faces  that  they  did  n't  know  what  they  was 
a  talkin'  about,  and  what 's  more  they  'd  better  go  back 
to  where  they  belong  and  not  come  nosin'  round  in 
other  people's  business  when  they  don't  understand  one 
single  mite  about  it.  We  don't  want  'm  puttin'  their 
fingers  in  our  pie  when  they  don't  know  a  thing  about 
us  or  our  ways.  That 's  my  say,"  she  closed,  with 
appalling  significance,  flattering  herself  that  no  one 
could  dream  but  that  she  was  dealing  in  the  most  off 
hand  generalities.  She  was  far  too  politic  to  antago 
nize,  and  withal  too  good  a  woman  not  to  strike  for  a 
friend.  She  congratulated  herself  she  had  been  true  to 
all  her  gods  —  and  she  had  been. 

Louise  smiled  in  complete  sympathy,  challenging  the 
Judge  meanwhile  with  laughing  eyes.  But  the  Judge  — 
he  was  still  much  of  a  boy  in  spite  of  his  grave  call 
ing  and  mature  years  —  just  threw  back  his  blonde 
head  and  shouted  in  rapturous  glee.  He  laughed  till 
[153] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

the  very  ceiling  rang  in  loud  response;  laughed  till 
the  tears  shone  in  his  big  blue  eyes.  Mrs.  Higgins 
looked  on  in  undisguised  amazement,  hands  on  hips. 

"  Dear  me,  suz ! "  she  sputtered,  "  is  the  man  gone 
clean  daffy  ?  " 

"  Won't  you  shake  hands  with  me,  Mrs.  Higgins  ? " 
he  asked,  gravely.  "  I  ask  your  pardon  for  my  levity, 
and  I  assure  you  there  is  n't  a  man  in  the  whole  world 
I  esteem  more  or  hold  greater  faith  in  than  Dick 
Gordon  —  or  love  so  much.  I  thank  you  for  your 
championship  of  him.  I  would  that  he  had  more 
friends  like  you.  Louise,  are  you  ready  ?" 

Their  walk  to  the  hotel  was  a  silent  one.  Later,  as 
she  was  leaving  him  to  go  to  her  own  room,  Louise  laid 
her  head  caressingly  on  her  uncle's  sleeve. 

"  Uncle  Hammond,"  she  said,  impulsively,  "  you  are 
—  incorrigible,  but  you  are  the  best  man  in  all  the 
world." 

"  The  very  best  ?  "  he  asked,  smilingly. 

"  The  very  best,"  she  repeated,  firmly. 

There  was  a  full  calendar  that  term,  and  the  close  of 
the  first  week  found  the  court  still  wrestling  with  crim 
inal  cases,  with  that  of  Jesse  Black  yet  uncalled.  Gor 
don  reckoned  that  Black's  trial  could  not  possibly  be 
taken  up  until  Tuesday  or  Wednesday  of  the  following 
week.  Long  before  that,  the  town  began  filling  up  for 
the  big  rustling  case.  There  were  other  rustling  cases 
on  the  criminal  docket,  but  they  paled  before  this  one 
[154] 


Mrs.  Higgins  Rallies  to  her  Colors 

where  the  suspected  leader  of  a  gang  was  on  trial. 
The  interested  and  the  curious  did  not  mean  to  miss 
any  part  of  it.  They  began  coming  in  early  in  the 
week.  They  kept  coming  the  remainder  of  that  week 
and  Sunday  as  well.  Even  as  late  as  Monday,  delayed 
range  riders  came  scurrying  in,  leaving  the  cattle  mostly 
to  shift  for  themselves.  The  Velpen  aggregation,  bet 
ter  informed,  kept  to  its  own  side  of  the  river  pretty 
generally  until  the  Sunday,  at  least,  should  be  past. 

The  flats  southeast  of  town  became  the  camping 
grounds  for  those  unable  to  find  quarters  at  the  hotel, 
and  who  lived  too  far  out  to  make  the  nightly  ride 
home  and  back  in  the  morning.  They  were  tempted  by 
the  unusually  mild  weather.  These  were  mostly  Indians 
and  half-breeds,  but  with  a  goodly  sprinkling  of  cow 
boys  of  the  rougher  order.  Camp-fires  spotted  the 
plain,  burning  redly  at  night.  There  was  plenty  of 
drift-wood  to  be  had  for  the  hauling.  Blanketed 
Indians  squatted  and  smoked  around  their  fires  —  a 
revival  of  an  older  and  better  day  for  them.  Sometimes 
they  stalked  majestically  through  the  one  street  of  the 
town. 

The  judicial  party  was  safely  housed  in  the  hotel, 
with  the  best  service  it  was  possible  for  the  manage 
ment  to  give  in  this  busy  season  of  congested  patronage. 
It  was  impossible  to  accommodate  the  crowds.  Even 
the  office  was  jammed  with  cots  at  night.  Mary  Wil- 
liston  had  come  in  from  White's  to  be  with  Louise. 
[  155  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

She  was  physically  strong  again,  but  ever  strangely 
quiet,  always  sombre-eyed. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  Louise  ? "  she  asked,  one  night. 
They  were  sitting  in  darkness.  From  their  east  window 
they  could  see  the  gleaming  red  splotches  that  were 
fires  on  the  flat. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mary  ? "  asked  Louise,  dream 
ily.  She  was  thinking  how  much  sterner  Gordon  grew 
every  day.  He  still  had  a  smile  for  his  friends,  but  he 
always  smiled  under  defeat.  That  is  what  hurt  so. 
She  had  noticed  that  very  evening  at  supper  how  gray 
his  hair  was  getting  at  the  temples.  He  had  looked 
lonely  and  sad.  Was  it  then  all  so  hopeless? 

"I  mean,  to  make  a  living  for  myself,"  Mary  an 
swered,  earnestly.  "There  is  no  one  in  the  world 
belonging  to  me  now.  There  were  only  father  and  I. 
What  shall  I  do,  Louise?" 

"  Mary,  dear,  dear  Mary,  what  are  you  thinking  of 
doing  ?  " 

"  Anything,"  she  answered,  her  proud  reticence  giv 
ing  way  before  her  need,  "  that  will  keep  me  from  the 
charity  of  my  friends.  The  frock  I  have  on,  plain  as  it 
is,  is  mine  through  the  generosity  of  Paul  Langford. 
The  bread  I  eat  he  pays  for.  He  —  he  lied  to  me, 
Louise.  He  told  me  the  cowmen  had  made  a  purse  for 
my  present  needs.  They  had  n't.  It  was  all  from  him. 
I  found  out.  Mrs.  White  is  poor.  She  can't  keep  a 
great,  strapping  girl  like  me  for  nothing.  I  am  such 
[156] 


Mrs.  Higgins  Rallies  to  her  Colors 

a  hearty  eater,  and  he  has  been  paying  her,  Louise,  for 
what  I  ate.  Think  of  it !  I  thought  I  should  die 
when  I  found  it  out.  I  made  her  promise  not  to  take 
another  cent  from  him  —  for  me.  So  I  have  been 
working  to  make  it  up.  I  have  washed  and  ironed  and 
scrubbed  and  baked.  I  was  man  of  affairs  at  the  ranch 
while  Mr.  White  went  out  with  the  gang  for  the  Fall 
round-up.  I  have  herded.  But  one  has  to  have  things 
besides  one's  bread.  The  doctor  was  paid  out  of  that 
make-believe  purse,  but  it  must  all  be  made  up  to 
Paul  Langford  —  every  cent  of  it." 

"  Mr.  Langford  would  be  very  much  hurt  if  you 
should  do  that,"  began  Louise,  slowly.  "It  was  be 
cause  of  him,  you  know,  primarily,  that  — " 

"  He  owes  me  nothing,"  interrupted  Mary,  sharply. 

"  Oh,"  said  Louise,  smiling  in  the  dark. 

"  I  believe  I  could  teach  school,"  went  on  Mary,  with 
feverish  haste,  "  if  I  could  get  a  school  to  teach." 

"I  should  think  Mr.  Gordon  could  help  you  to 
secure  a  place  here,"  said  Louise. 

"  I  have  not  told  Mr.  Gordon  my  troubles,"  said 
Mary,  gravely.  "  I  should  not  dream  of  intruding 
with  such  petty  affairs  while  his  big  fight  is  on  —  his 
glorious  fight.  He  will  avenge  my  father.  Nothing 
matters  but  that.  He  has  enough  to  bear  —  without " 
a  woman's  trivial  grievances." 

"  But  he  would  be  glad  to  take  that  little  trouble 
for  you  if  he  knew,"  persisted  Louise.     She  was  feeling 
[  157  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

small  and  of  little  worth  in  the  strength  of  Mary's 
sweeping  independence.  She  was  hauntingly  sure  that 
in  like  circumstances  she  would  be  weak  enough  to  take 
her  trouble  to  —  a  man  like  Gordon,  for  instance.  It 
came  to  her,  there  in  the  dark,  that  maybe  he  loved 
Mary.  She  had  no  cause  to  wonder,  if  this  were  true. 
Mary  was  fine  —  beautiful,  lovable,  stanch  and  true 
and  capable,  and  he  had  known  her  long  before  he 
knew  there  was  such  a  creature  in  existence  as  the  in 
significant,  old-maidenish,  mouse-haired  reporter  from 
the  East.  The  air  of  the  room  suddenly  became 
stifling.  She  threw  open  a  window.  The  soft,  damp 
air  of  the  cloudy,  warm  darkness  floated  in  and  caressed 
her  hot  cheeks.  Away,  away  over  yonder,  beyond  the 
twinkling  camp-fires  on  the  flat,  across  the  river,  away 
to  the  east,  were  her  childhood's  home  and  her  kin. 
Here  were  the  big,  unthinking,  overbearing  cow  coun 
try  and  —  the  man  who  loved  Mary  Williston,  maybe. 

It  was  getting  late  bedtime.  Men  were  shuffling 
noisily  through  the  hall  on  their  way  to  their  rooms. 
Scraps  of  conversation  drifted  in  to  the  two  girls. 

" He's  a  fool  to  make  the  try  without  Williston." 

"It  takes  some  folks  a  mighty  long  time  to  learn 
their  place  in  this  here  county."" 

"  Well,  I  reckon  he  thinks  the  county  kin  afford  to 
stand  good  for  his  fool  play." 

"  He  11  learn  his  mistake  —  when  Jesse  gets  out." 

"  Naw  !     Not  the  ghost  of  a  show  ! " 
[158] 


Mrs.  Higgins  Rallies  to  her  Colors 

"  He  'd  ought  to  be  tarred  and  feathered  and  shot 
full  o'  holes,  and  shipped  back  to  where  he  come  from 
to  show  his  kind  how  we  deal  with  plumb  idjits  west  o' 
the  river." 

"Well,  hell  dance  a  different  stunt  'gainst  this  is 
over." 

«  You  bet !     Jesse  '11  do  his  stunt  next." 

And  then  they  heard  the  lazy  doctor's  voice  drawling, 
"  Mebby  so,  but  let 's  wait  and  see,  shall  we  ?  " 

Men's  minds  were  set  unshiftingly  on  this  coming 
trial.  How  Gordon  would  have  to  fight  for  a  fair  jury  ! 

"I  think  it  is  as  you  said,"  said  Mary,  presently. 
"  Mr.  Langford  feels  he  owes  me  —  bread  and  clothes, 
He  is  anxious  to  pay  off  the  debt  so  there  will  be 
nothing  on  his  conscience.  He  owes  me  nothing,  noth 
ing,  Louise,  but  he  is  a  man  and  he  thinks  he  can  pay 
off  any  obligation  he  may  feel." 

"  That  is  a  harsh  motive  you  ascribe  to  Mr.  Lang- 
ford,"  said  Louise,  closing  the  window  and  coming  to 
sit  affectionately  at  Mary's  feet.  "  I  don't  think  he 
means  it  in  that  way  at  all.  I  think  it  is  a  fine  and 
delicate  and  manly  thing  he  has  done.  He  did  not 
intend  for  you  to  know  —  or  any  one.  And  don't  you 
think,  Mary,  that  the  idea  of  making  up  a  purse  should 
have  come  from  some  one  else  — just  as  he  tried  to 
make  you  believe  ?  It  was  not  done,  so  what  was 
left  for  Mr.  Langford  to  do  ?  He  had  promised  to 
see  your  father  through.  He  was  glad  to  do  it.  I 
[  159  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

think  it  was  fine  of  him  to  do  —  what  he  did  —  the 
way  he  did  it." 

She  had  long  thought  the  Boss  dreamed  dreams  of 
Mary.  She  was  more  sure  of  it  than  ever  to-night. 
And  now  if  Gordon  did,  too  —  well,  Mary  was  worth 
it.  But  she  would  be  sorry  for  one  of  them  some  day. 
They  were  fine  men  —  both  of  them. 

"But  I  shall  pay  him  back  —  every  cent,"  replied 
Mary,  firmly.  "  He  owes  me  nothing,  Louise,  nothing, 
I  tell  you.  I  will  not  accept  alms  —  of  him.  You  see 
that  I  could  n't,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  he  does  not  feel  he  owes  you  anything  —  in 
the  way  you  are  accusing  him,"  answered  Louise,  wisely. 
"  He  is  doing  this  because  you  are  you  and  he  cannot 
bear  to  think  of  you  suffering  for  things  when  he  wants 
to  help  you  more  than  he  could  dare  to  tell  you  now. 
Mary,  don't  you  see  ?  I  think,  too,  you  must  pay 
him  back  some  day,  but  don't  worry  about  it.  You 
would  hurt  him  too  much  if  you  do  not  take  plenty  of 
time  to  get  strong  and  well  before  repaying  him  —  pal 
try  dollars.  There  will  be  a  way  found,  never  fear. 
Meanwhile  you  can  amuse  yourself  correcting  my  tran 
scripts  to  keep  you  content  till  something  turns  up,  and 
we  will  make  something  turn  up.  Wait  until  this 
term  is  over  and  don't  fret.  You  won't  fret,  will  you  ?  " 
"  I  will  try  not  to,  Louise,"  said  Mary,  with  a  little 
weary  gesture  of  acquiescence. 

[160] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CHANNEL  ICE 

A  JOLLY  party  set  off  for  Velpen  Sunday  morn 
ing.  Hank  Bruebacher  had  remained  over  night 
on  purpose  to  escort  them  to  the  river  in  his 
'bus.  It  had  been  caught  on  the  wrong  side.  The 
channel  had  closed  over  about  the  middle  of  the  week. 
The  ice  had  been  very  thin  at  first ;  there  had  been 
no  drop  of  the  thermometer,  but  a  gradual  lowering 
night  after  night  had  at  last  made  men  deem  it  safe 
to  cross  on  foot.  A  rumor  to  this  effect  had  drifted  in 
to  the  tired  jurors  hanging  around  and  killing  time, 
waiting  to  be  called.  Sunday  in  Kemah  was  impossible 
—  to  many.  Besides,  they  had  had  a  week  of  it.  They 
were  sure  of  a  good  dinner  at  Velpen.  where  there  had 
been  no  such  fearful  inroads  on  the  supplies,  and  the 
base  of  whose  supplies,  moreover,  was  not  cut  off  as  it 
was  at  Kemah  by  the  closing  of  the  river,  which  was 
not  yet  solid  enough  for  traffic.  That  consideration 
held  weight  with  many.  Saloon  service  was  a  little 
better,  and  that,  too,  had  its  votaries.  Business  ap 
pointments  actuated  Gordon  and  perhaps  a  few  others. 
Ennui  pure  and  simple  moved  the  Court  and  the 
Court's  assistant. 

n  [  161  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

It  was  about  ten  in  the  morning.  It  was  frosty,  but 
bright,  and  the  little  cold  snap  bade  fair  to  die  prema 
turely.  It  surely  was  wonderful  weather  for  South 
Dakota. 

"  Where  is  Mary  ?  "  asked  the  Judge,  as  Louise  came 
lightly  down  the  stairs,  ready  to  put  on  her  gloves. 

"  She  went  out  to  the  Whites'  an  hour  or  so  ago  — 
to  do  the  week's  washing,  I  suspect.  Mr.  Langford 
took  her  out." 

"  Louise !  On  Sunday  ! "  Even  the  tolerant  Judge 
was  shocked. 

"  It 's  true,  Uncle  Hammond,"  persisted  Louise, 
earnestly. 

She  wore  a  modish  hat  that  was  immensely  becom 
ing,  and  looked  charming.  Gordon  stood  at  the  worn, 
wooden  steps,  hat  off,  despite  the  nipping  air,  wait 
ing  to  assist  her  to  the  place  the  gallant  Hank  had 
reserved  for  her. 

He  sat  down  at  her  right,  Judge  Dale  at  her  left. 
The  jurymen  filled  the  other  places  rapidly.  The 
heavy  wagon  lurched  forward.  The  road  was  good ; 
there  had  been  no  snows  or  thaws.  Now  was  Hank  in 
his  element.  It  is  very  probable  that  he  was  the  most 
unreservedly  contented  man  in  seven  States  that  fair 
Sunday  morning  —  always  excepting  Munson  of  the 
Three  Bars.  A  few  straggling  buckboards  and  horse 
men  brought  up  the  rear.  Judge  Dale,  taking  to  him 
self  as  much  room  as  it  was  possible  to  confiscate  with 
[162] 


Channel  Ice 

elbows  slyly  pressed  outward  chickenwing-wise,  fished 
out  his  newspaper  leisurely,  leaned  over  Gordon  to  say 
in  a  matter-of-fact  voice,  "  Just  amuse  Louise  for  a  lit 
tle  while,  will  you,  Dick,  while  I  glance  at  the  news ; 
you  won't  have  to  play,  just  talk,  —  she  likes  to  talk," 
and  buried  himself  in  the  folds  of  the  jiggling  paper ; 
much  jiggled  because  Hank  had  no  intention  of  per 
mitting  any  vehicle  to  pass  the  outfit  of  which  the 
Judge  was  passenger  while  he,  Hank  Bruebacher,  held 
the  reins.  He  was  an  authority  of  the  road,  and  as 
such,  he  refused  to  be  passed  by  anything  on  wheels. 

The  rattle  of  the  wagon  drowned  all  coherent  con 
versation.  The  Judge's  outspread  arms  had  forced 
Louise  very  close  to  her  neighbor  on  the  right,  who 
had  the  instructions  to  keep  her  amused,  but  even  then 
he  must  bend  his  head  if  he  were  to  obey  orders  strictly 
and  —  talk.  He  chose  to  obey.  Last  night,  he  had 
been  worn  out  with  the  strain  of  the  week  ;  he  had 
not  been  able  to  forget  things.  To-day,  —  well,  to-day 
was  to-day. 

"  Are  you  going  to  hear  the  bishop  ?  "  asked  Louise. 
It  was  a  little  hard  to  make  conversation  when  every 
time  one  lifted  one's  eyes  one  found  one's  self  so  start- 
lingly  close  to  a  man's  fine  face. 

"Surely!"  responded  Gordon.  "An  incomparable 
scholar  —  an  indefatigable  workman  —  truest  of  saints." 
There  was  grave  reverence  in  his  lowered  voice. 

"  You  know  him  well  ?  " 

[163] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  Yes.  I  see  him  often  in  his  Indian  mission  work. 
He  is  one  of  the  best  friends  I  have.11 

The  river  gleamed  with  a  frozen  deadness  alongside. 
The  horses1  hoofs  pounded  rhythmically  over  the  hard 
ened  road.  Opposite,  a  man  who  had  evidently  found 
saloon  service  in  Kemah  pretty  good,  but  who  doubtless 
would  put  himself  in  a  position  to  make  comparisons 
as  soon  as  ever  his  unsteady  feet  could  carry  him  there, 
began  to  sing  a  rollicking  melody  in  a  maudlin  falsetto. 

"  Shut  up  !  "     One  of  the  men  nudged  him  roughly. 

"  Right  you  are,11  said  the  singer,  pleasantly,  whose 
name  was  Lawson.  "  It  is  not  seemly  that  we  lift 
up  our  voices  in  worldly  melody  on  this  holy  day 
and  —  in  the  presence  of  a  lady,11  with  an  elaborate 
bow  and  a  vacant  grin  that  made  Louise  shrink 
closer  to  the  Judge.  "  I  suggest  we  all  join  in  a 
sacred  song.11  He  followed  up  his  own  suggestion 
with  a  discordant  burst  of  "  Yes,  we  will  gather  at 
the  river.1' 

"He  means  the  kind  o1  rivers  they  have  in  the 
'  Place  around  the  Corner,1 "  volunteered  Hank,  turning 
around  with  a  knowing  wink.  "  They  have  rivers  there 
—  plenty  of  'em  —  only  none  of  ""em  ever  saw  water.11 

"  I  tell  you,  shut  up,11  whispered  the  man  who  had 
first  chided.  "  Can't  you  see  there  ?s  a  lady  present  ? 
No  more  monkey-shines  or  we  11  oust  you.  Hear  ?  " 

"  I  bow  to  the  demands  of  the  lady,11  said  Lawson, 
subsiding  with  happy  gallantry. 
[164] 


Channel  Ice 

"  You  have  many  '  best  friends '  for  a  man  who 
boasted  not  so  long  ago  that  he  stood  alone  in  the  cow 
country,"  said  Louise,  resuming  the  interrupted  con 
versation  with  Gordon. 

"  He  is  one  of  the  fingers,"  retorted  Gordon.  "  I 
confessed  to  one  hand,  you  will  remember." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  Louise,  musingly.  She  began 
counting  on  her  own  daintily  gloved  hand. 

"  Mrs.  Higgins  is  the  thumb,  you  said  ? "  question- 
ingly. 

"Yes." 

"  Mr.  Langford  is  the  first  finger,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  And  Uncle  Hammond  is  the  middle  finger  ?  " 

"  You  have  said  it." 

"  And  the  bishop  is  the  third  finger  ?  " 

"  He  surely  is." 

"  And  —  and  —  Mary  is  the  next  ?  " 

"  Sorceress  !     You  have  guessed  all  right." 

"  Then  where  am  I  ?  "  she  challenged,  half  in  earnest, 
half  in  fun.  "  You  might  have  left  at  least  the  little 
finger  for  me." 

He  laughed  under  his  breath  —  an  unsteady  sort  of 
laugh,  as  if  something  had  knocked  at  his  habitual 
self-control.  There  was  only  one  answer  to  that  gay, 
mocking  challenge  —  only  one  —  and  that  he  could 
not  give.  He  forgot  for  a  little  while  that  there 
were  other  people  in  the  wagon.  The  poor  babbling, 
[165] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

grinning  man  across  the  way  was  not  the  only  drunken 
man  therein.  Only  one  answer,  and  that  to  draw 
the  form  closer  —  closer  to  him  —  against  his  heart  — 
for  there  was  where  she  belonged.  Fingers  ?  What 
did  he  care  for  fingers  now  ?  He  wanted  to  lay  his 
face  down  against  her  soft  hair  —  it  was  so  perilously 
near.  If  only  he  might  win  in  his  fight !  But  even  so, 
what  would  it  matter  ?  What  could  there  ever  be  for 
her  in  this  cruel,  alien  land  ?  She  had  been  so  kindly 
and  lovingly  nurtured.  In  her  heart  nestled  the  home 
call  —  for  all  time.  She  was  bound  in  its  meshes. 
They  would  draw  her  sooner  or  later  to  her  sure  and 
inevitable  destiny.  And  what  was  there  for  him  else 
where  —  after  all  these  years  ?  Kismet.  He  drew  a 
long  breath. 

"  I  'm  a  poor  maverick,  I  suppose,  marked  with 
no  man's  friendship.  But  you  see  I  'm  learning  the 
language  of  the  brotherhood.  Why  don't  you  com 
pliment  me  on  my  adaptability?" 

She  looked  up  smilingly.  She  was  hurt,  but  he 
should  never  know  it.  And  he,  because  of  the  pain  in 
him,  answered  almost  roughly  : 

"  It  is  not  a  language  for  you  to  learn.  You  will 
never  learn.  Quit  trying.  You  are  not  like  us." 

She,  because  she  did  not  understand,  felt  the  old 

homesick  choking  in  her  throat,  and  remembered  with  a 

reminiscent  shudder  of  the  first  awful  time  she  had 

spun   along   that   road.      Everybody   seemed  to   spin 

[  166  ] 


Channel  Ice 

in  this  strange  land.  She  felt  herself  longing  for  the 
fat,  lazy,  old  jogging  horses  of  her  country  home. 
Horses  could  n't  hurry  there  because  the  hills  were  too 
many  and  the  roads  too  heavy.  These  lean,  shaggy, 
range-bred  horses  were  diabolical  in  their  predilection 
for  going.  Hank's  surely  were  no  exception  to  the 
rule.  He  pulled  them  up  with  a  grand  flourish  at  the 
edge  of  the  steep  incline  leading  directly  upon  the  pon 
toon  that  bridged  the  narrowed  river  on  the  Kemah 
side  of  the  island,  and  they  stopped  dead  still  with  the 
cleanness  worthy  of  cow  ponies.  The  suddenness  of 
the  halt  precipitated  them  all  into  a  general  mix-up. 
Gordon  had  braced  himself  for  the  shock,  but  Louise 
was  wholly  unprepared.  She  was  thrown  violently 
against  him.  The  contact  paled  his  face.  The  soft 
hair  he  had  longed  to  caress  in  his  madness  brushed  his 
cheek.  He  shivered. 

"Oh!"  cried  Louise,  laughing  and  blushing,  "I 
was  n't  expecting  that ! " 

Most  of  the  men  were  already  out  and  down  on 
the  bridge.  A  lone  pedestrian  was  making  his  way 
across. 

"  All  safe  ?  "  queried  Judge  Dale,  as  he  came  up. 

"  A  little  thin  over  the  channel,  but  all  safe  if  you 
cross  a- foot." 

"  Suppose  we  walk  across  the  island,"  suggested  the 
Judge,  who  occasionally  overcame  his  indolence  in  spas 
modic  efforts  to  counteract  his  growing  portliness, 
[  167  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"and  our  friend  Hank  will  meet  us  here  in  the 
morning." 

So  it  was  agreed.  The  little  party  straggled  gayly 
across  the  bridge.  The  walk  across  the  island  was  far 
from  irksome.  The  air  was  still  bracing,  though  rags 
of  smoky  cloud  were  beginning  to  obscure  the  sun. 
The  gaunt  cottonwoods  stood  out  in  sombre  silhouette 
against  the  unsoftened  bareness  of  the  winter  landscape. 
Louise  was  somewhat  thoughtful  and  pensive  since  her 
little  attempt  to  challenge  intimacy  had  been  so  un 
graciously  received.  To  Gordon,  on  the  other  hand, 
had  come  a  strange,  new  exhilaration.  His  blood 
bounded  joyously  through  his  veins.  This  was  his 
day  —  he  would  live  it  to  the  dregs.  To-morrow, 
and  renunciation  —  well,  that  was  to-morrow.  He 
could  not  even  resent,  as,  being  a  man,  he  should  have 
resented,  the  unwelcome  and  ludicrous  attentions  of 
the  drunken  singer  to  the  one  woman  in  the  crowd, 
because  whenever  the  offender  came  near,  Louise  would 
press  closer  to  him,  Gordon,  and  once,  in  her  quick  dis 
taste  to  the  proximity  of  the  man,  she  clutched  Gor- 
don^s  coat-sleeve  nervously.  It  was  the  second  time  he 
had  felt  her  hand  on  his  arm.  He  never  forgot  either. 
But  the  man  received  such  a  withering  chastisement 
from  Gordon's  warning  eyes  that  he  ceased  to  molest 
until  the  remainder  of  the  island  road  had  been 
traversed. 

Then  men  looked  at  each  other  questioningly.  A 
[168] 


Channel  Ice 

long,  narrow,  single-plank  bridge  stretched  across  the 
channel.  It  was  not  then  so  safe  as  report  would  have 
it.  The  boards  were  stretched  lengthwise  with  a  long 
step  between  each  board  and  the  next.  What  was  to 
be  done  ?  Hank  had  gone  long  since.  No  one  coveted 
the  long  walk  back  to  Kemah.  Every  one  did  covet 
the  comfort  or  pleasure  upon  which  each  had  set  his 
heart.  Gordon,  the  madness  of  his  intoxication  still 
upon  him,  constituted  himself  master  of  ceremonies. 
He  stepped  lightly  upon  the  near  plank  to  reconnoitre. 
He  walked  painstakingly  from  board  to  board.  He 
was  dealing  in  precious  freight  —  he  would  draw  no 
rash  conclusions.  When  he  had  reached  what  he  con 
sidered  the  middle  of  the  channel,  he  returned  and 
pronounced  it  in  his  opinion  safe,  with  proper  care, 
and  advised  strongly  that  no  one  step  upon  a  plank 
till  the  one  in  front  of  him  had  left  it.  Thus  the 
weight  of  only  one  person  at  a  time  would  materially 
lessen  the  danger  of  the  ice's  giving  way.  So  the 
little  procession  took  up  its  line  of  march. 

Gordon  had  planned  that  Louise  should  follow  her 
uncle  and  he  himself  would  follow  Louise;  thus  he 
might  rest  assured  that  there  would  be  no  encroach 
ment  upon  her  preserves.  The  officious  songster,  con 
trary  to  orders,  glided  ahead  of  his  place  when  the  line 
of  march  was  well  taken  up  —  usurping  anybody's  plank 
at  will,  and  trotting  along  over  the  bare  ice  until  finally 
he  drew  alongside  Louise  with  an  amiable  grin. 
[169] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  I  will  be  here  ready  for  emergencies,"  he  confided, 
meaningly.  "  You  need  not  be  afraid.  If  the  ice 
breaks,  I  will  save  you.11 

"  Get  back,  you  fool,11  cried  Gordon,  fiercely. 

"  And  leave  this  young  lady  alone  ?  Not  so  was  I 
brought  up,  young  man,11  answered  Lawson,  with  great 
dignity.  "  Give  me  your  hand,  miss,  I  will  steady  you.11 

Louise  shrank  from  his  touch  and  stepped  back  to 
the  end  of  her  plank. 

"  Get  on  that  plank,  idiot ! "  cried  Gordon,  wrath- 
fully.  "  And  if  you  dare  step  on  this  lady's  board 
again,  1 11  wring  your  neck.  Do  you  hear  ? " 

He  had  stepped  lightly  off  his  own  plank  for  a 
moment  while  he  drew  Louise  back  to  it.  The  ice 
gave  treacherously,  and  a  little  pool  of  water  showed 
where  his  foot  had  been.  Louise  faltered. 

"  It  —  it  —  flows  so  fast,11  she  said,  nervously. 

"  It  is  nothing,11  he  reassured  her.  "  I  will  be  more 
careful  another  time.1' 

It  was  a  perilous  place  for  two.  He  hurried  her  to 
the  next  board  as  soon  as  the  subdued  transgressor  had 
left  it,  he  himself  holding  back. 

It  was  indeed  an  odd  procession.  Dark  figures  bal 
anced  themselves  on  the  slim  footing,  each  the  length 
of  a  plank  from  the  other,  the  line  seeming  to  stretch 
from  bank  to  bank.  It  would  have  been  ludicrous 
had  it  not  been  for  the  danger,  which  all  realized. 
Some  half-grown  boys,  prowling  along  the  Velpen  shore 
[170] 


Channel  Ice 

looking   for   safe   skating,   gibed   them    with    flippant 
rudeness. 

Lawson  took  fire. 

"  Whoop  "er  up,  boys,"  he  yelled,  waving  his  hat 
enthusiastically. 

He  pranced  up  gayly  to  the  Judge,  tripping  along 
on  the  bare  ice. 

"  Your  arm,  your  honor,"  he  cried.  "  It  is  a  blot 
on  my  escutcheon  that  I  have  left  you  to  traverse  this 
danger-bristling  way  alone  —  you,  the  Judge.  But 
trust  me.  If  the  ice  breaks,  I  will  save  you.  I  swim 
like  a  fish." 

"  My  friend,"  said  Dale,  fixing  on  him  eyes  of  calm 
disapproval,  "  if  you  are  the  cause  of  my  being  forced 
to  a  cold-water  plunge  bath  against  my  wishes,  I  will 
sentence  you  to  the  gallows.  Now  go  ! " 

He  went.  He  was  hurt,  but  he  was  not  deterred. 
He  would  wait  for  the  lady.  A  gentleman  could  do 
no  less.  Louise  stopped.  Gordon  stopped.  The  whole 
back  line  stopped.  Each  man  stood  to  his  colors  and 
—  his  plank.  Louise,  glancing  appealingly  over  her 
shoulder,  gave  an  hysterical  little  laugh. 

"  Move  on  ! "  cried  Gordon,  impatiently. 

Instead  of  moving  on,  however,  Lawson  came  confi 
dently  toward  Louise.  She  stifled  a  little  feminine 
scream  in  her  handkerchief  and  stepped  hastily  back 
ward. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  said  Lawson. 
[171] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Gordon  repressed  a  rising  oath,  and  cried  out,  "  If 
you  dare  — ,"  but  Lawson  had  already  dared.  His 
heavy  step  was  upon  Louise's  frail  support.  She 
thought  shudderingly,  intuitively,  of  the  dark,  swift, 
angry  current  under  its  thin  veneer  of  ice  —  the  cur 
rent  that  was  always  hungry  and  ate  islands  and  fertile 
fields  in  ravenous  mouthfuls.  She  ran  back  to  the  end 
of  her  plank. 

"  Have  no  fear,"  said  the  drunken  man,  blandly. 
He  stepped  to  the  bare  ice  at  her  side.  "  A  man  can't 
walk  pigeon-toed  always,"  he  confided.  "  Besides,  there 's 
not  a  particle  of  danger.  These  fools  are  making  a 
mountain  of  a  mole-hill." 

Gordon  came  forward  quickly. 

"  Run  ahead,  Miss  Dale,  I  '11  tend  to  this  fellow," 
he  said. 

He  extended  a  firm  hand.  He  meant  to  clutch  the 
man,  shove  him  behind,  and  keep  him  there.  But  at 
that  moment  the  ice  began  to  give  under  Lawson's 
clumsy  feet.  A  look  of  blank,  piteous  helplessness 
came  into  his  drunken  eyes  as  he  felt  the  treacherous 
ice  sinking  beneath  him.  He  tottered,  then,  with 
frantic,  unthinking  haste,  and  sprang  to  the  plank, 
but  it,  too,  began  to  sink.  He  laid  desperate  hold  of 
the  girl. 

"  Save  me  !  "  he  shrieked. 

Louise  was  conscious  only  of  a  quick,  awful  terror,  a 
dreadful  horror  of  swaying  and  sinking,  and  then  she 
[172] 


Channel  Ice 

was  muffled  against  a  rough  coat,  strong  arms  clasped 
her  tightly  and  bore  her  backward.  Shivering,  she  hid 
her  face  in  the  coat,  clutching  the  lapels  with  nervous 
strength. 

"  You  II  spoil  your  Sunday  clothes,"  she  moaned, 
trying  desperately  to  be  calm  and  sensible. 

And  Gordon  held  her  at  last  as  he  had  dreamed  in 
his  mad  moments  of  holding  her  —  close  against  his 
heart  —  in  the  place  he  had  not  dared  to  tell  her  he 
had  already  put  her.  His  face  was  pressed  against  the 
fair  hair  that  he  had  longed  with  an  indescribable  long 
ing  to  caress  such  a  short  time  ago.  His  lips  brushed 
the  soft  strands  with  infinite  tenderness.  Now  was  his 
dream  come  true.  This  day  was  his.  No  one  might 
take  it  from  him.  To-morrow,  —  but  that  was  to 
morrow.  To-day  was  his.  He  would  live  it  to  the 
end.  Closer  he  held  her,  —  the  dear  woman,  —  there 
was  no  one  else  in  all  the  world.  When  he  released 
her,  she  was  confronting  a  man  whose  face  was  as  white 
as  the  ice  around  them. 

"  Is  this  —  the  last  of  us  ?  "  she  questioned,  tremu 
lously. 

He  flung  his  arm  over  her  shoulders  again.  He  did 
not  know  exactly  what  he  did.  Men  were  coming  for 
ward  rapidly,  aware  that  a  great  tragedy  had  threatened, 
had  been  averted.  Dale  was  hastily  retracing  his  steps. 
Lawson  had  crawled  to  a  place  of  safety  on  a  forward 
plank  after  having  been  flung  out  of  the  way  by 
[  173  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Gordon  in  his  swift  rush  for  Louise.  He  was  grinning 
foolishly,  but  was  partially  sobered  by  the  shock. 

"  Back  !  All  of  you  !  "  cried  Gordon,  imperiously. 
He  was  very  pale,  but  he  had  regained  his  self-control. 
"  Idiots !  Do  you  want  another  accident  ?  Back  to 
your  places !  We  11  have  to  go  around."" 

The  ice  was  broken  in  many  spots.  Louise  had 
really  gone  through,  but  so  quick  had  been  her  rescue 
that  she  escaped  with  wet  feet  only.  By  making  a  port 
able  bridge  of  two  of  the  planks,  they  skirted  the 
yawning  hole  in  safety.  It  was  a  more  dangerous 
undertaking  now  that  two  must  stand  on  a  plank  at 
the  same  time.  Luckily,  the  greater  number  were  ahead 
when  the  accident  occurred.  It  was  not  much  past 
noon,  —  but  Gordon's  day  was  ended.  It  was  as  if  the 
sun  had  gone  down  on  it.  He  found  no  opportunity 
to  speak  to  Louise  again,  and  the  to-morrow,  his  to 
morrow,  had  come.  But  the  one  day  had  been  worth 
while. 


[174] 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  GAME  IS  ON 

CONTRARY  to  expectation,  the  case  of  the  State 
of  South  Dakota  against  Jesse  Black  was  called 
soon  after  the  sitting  of  the  court  Monday  after 
noon.  No  testimony  was  introduced,  however,  until 
the  following  day.  Inch  by  inch,  step  by  step,  Gordon 
fought  for  a  fair  jury  through  that  tense  afternoon. 
Merciless  in  his  shrewd  examination,  keen  to  detect 
hesitancy,  prejudices  sought  to  be  concealed  he  cleverly 
and  relentlessly  unearthed.  Chair  after  chair  was 
vacated,  —  only  to  be  vacated  again.  It  seemed  there 
was  not  a  man  in  the  county  who  had  not  heard 
somewhat  of  this  much-heralded  crime  —  if  crime  it 
were.  And  he  who  had  heard  was  a  prejudiced  parti 
san.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  where  feeling  ran  so 
high,  —  where  honest  men  mostly  felt  resentment 
against  the  man  who  dared  to  probe  the  wound  with 
out  extracting  the  cause  of  it,  and  a  hatred  and  fear 
curiously  intermingled  with  admiration  of  the  outlaw 
whose  next  move  after  obtaining  his  freedom  might  be 
to  cut  out  of  the  general  herd,  cows  of  their  own 
brands,  —  where  tainted  men,  officers  or  cowmen, 
awaited  developments  with  a  consuming  interest  that 
[175] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

was  not  above  manipulating  the  lines  of  justice  for 
their  own  selfish  ends  ?  Yet,  despite  the  obstacles  in 
the  way,  Gordon  was  determined  to  have  an  unpreju 
diced  jury  in  so  far  as  it  lay  in  human  power  to  seat 
such  a  one  in  the  box.  So  he  worked,  and  worked 
hard. 

This  impanelling  of  the  jury  was  not  interesting  to 
the  crowd.  Many  had  no  hint  of  its  deeper  meaning. 
Others  saw  it  in  the  light  of  child's  play  —  a  certain 
braggadocio  on  the  part  of  the  young  lawyer.  They 
wanted  the  actual  show  to  begin  —  the  examination 
of  witnesses.  They  came  and  went  restlessly,  impa 
tiently  waiting.  Wiser  heads  than  theirs  knew  that 
the  game  was  already  on  in  deadly  earnest.  If  these 
had  been  lucky  enough  to  get  seats  in  the  small  and 
overcrowded  court-room,  they  remained  glued  to  them. 
They  were  waiting  to  see  what  manner  of  men  would 
be  chosen  —  Jesse's  peers  —  to  pass  judgment  on  his 
acts  and  mete  out  for  him  just  deserts  —  if  they  were 
capable  of  a  just  verdict.  The  square-jawed,  keen 
witted,  clean-cut  captain  of  justice,  who  had  forgotten 
that  the  campaign  had  aged  him  irrevocably  and  that 
some  whitened  hair  would  never  grow  brown  again, 
meant  that  they  should  be  capable.  The  opposing 
lawyers  smiled  tolerantly  at  the  numerous  challenges. 
These  smiles  went  far  to  convince  many  of  the  infalli 
bility  of  their  defence.  Amused  tolerance  is  a  power 
ful  weapon  on  more  fields  than  one  where  men  war 
[  176  ] 


The  Game  is  On 

with  their  wits.     It  is  a  wise  man  who  cultivates  the 
art. 

"  We  have  chosen  the  right  man,"  whispered  Langford 
to  Mary.  They  had  secured  seats  near  the  front  and 
were  of  those  who  knew  the  game  was  being  played. 

"  He  is  great,"  returned  Mary.  If  only  her  father 
could  be  there  to  help !  The  odds  were  fearful.  Louise, 
sitting  at  her  table  within  the  bar,  with  faith  in  this 
man's  destiny  sufficient  to  remove  mountains,  smiled 
down  at  her  friends. 

"  Louise  is  an  angel,"  said  Mary,  affectionately. 

"  Yes,  she  is,"  responded  Langford,  absently,  for  he 
was  not  looking  at  the  girl  reporter,  nor  were  his 
thoughts  on  her  side  of  the  rail.  He  wished  for  the 
sake  of  Williston's  "  little  girl "  that  there  were  not  so 
much  tobacco  stench  in  the  room.  But  this  was  a 
vague  and  intangible  wish.  He  wished  with  the  whole 
strength  of  his  manhood  —  which  was  much  —  that  this 
man  on  trial  might  be  made  to  pay  the  penalty  of  his 
crime  as  a  stepping-stone  to  paying  the  penalty  of  that 
greater  crime  of  which  he  firmly  believed  him  guilty. 
His  own  interest  had  become  strangely  secondary  since 
that  hot  July  day  when  he  had  pledged  himself  to 
vengeance.  This  falling  off  might  have  dated  from  a 
certain  September  morning  when  he  had  lost  himself — 
for  all  time  —  to  a  girl  with  pain-pinched  face  and 
fever-brightened  eyes  who  wore  a  blue  wrapper.  His 
would  not  be  a  personal  triumph  now,  if  he  won. 
12  [  177  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Court  adjourned  that  evening  with  the  jury-box 
filled.  The  State's  friends  were  feeling  pretty  good 
about  it.  Langford  made  his  way  into  the  bar  where 
Gordon  was  standing  apart.  He  passed  an  arm 
affectionately  over  his  friend's  shoulder. 

"  You  were  inspired,  Dick,"  he  said.  "  Keep  on  the 
same  as  you  have  begun  and  we  shall  have  everything 
our  own  way." 

But  the  fire  had  died  down  in  the  young  lawyer's 
bearing. 

"  I  'm  tired,  Paul,  dead  tired,"  he  said,  wearily.  "  I 
wish  it  were  over." 

"  Come  to  supper  —  then  you  11  feel  better.  You  're 
tired  out.  It  is  a  tough  strain,  is  n't  it  ? "  he  said, 
cheerily.  He  was  not  afraid.  He  knew  the  fire  would 
burn  the  brighter  again  when  there  was  need  of  it 
—  in  the  morning. 

They  passed  out  of  the  bar  together.  At  the  hotel, 
Mary  and  Louise  were  already  seated  at  the  table  in 
the  dining-room  where  the  little  party  usually  sat 
together  when  it  was  possible  to  do  so.  Judge  Dale 
had  not  yet  arrived.  The  landlady  was  in  a  worried 
dispute  with  Red  Sanderson  and  a  companion.  The 
men  were  evidently  cronies.  They  had  their  eyes  on 
two  of  the  three  vacant  places  at  the  table. 

"  But  I  tell  you  these  places  are  taken,"  persisted  the 
landlady,  who  served  as  head-waitress  when  such  ser 
vices  were  necessary,  which  was  not  often.  Her  patrons 
[178] 


The  Game  is  On 

usually  took  and  held  possession  of  things  at  their  own 
sweet  will. 

"You  bet  they  are,11  chimed  in  Red,  deliberately 
pulling  out  a  chair  next  to  Louise,  who  shivered  in 
recognition. 

"  Please — "  she  began,  in  a  small  voice,  but  got  no 
farther.  Something  in  his  bold,  admiring  stare  choked 
her  into  silence. 

"  You  're  a  mighty  pretty  girl,  if  you  are  a  trottin1 
round  with  the  Three  Bars,"  he  grinned.  "  Plenty  time 
to  change  your  live  —  " 

"  Just  move  on,  will  you,"  said  Gordon,  curtly,  com 
ing  up  at  that  moment  with  Langford  and  shoving 
him  aside  with  unceremonious  brevity.  "This  is  my 
place."  He  sat  down  quietly. 

"  You  damned  upstart,"  blustered  Sanderson.  "  Want 
a  little  pistol  play,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Gentlemen  !   gentlemen  !  "   implored  the  landlady. 

"I'm  not  entering  any  objection,"  said  Gordon, 
coolly.  "  Just  shoot  —  why  don't  you  ?  You  have  the 
drop  on  me." 

For  a  moment  it  looked  as  if  Sanderson  would  take 
him  at  his  word  and  meet  this  taunt  with  instant  death 
for  the  sender  of  it,  so  black  was  his  anger.  But 
encountering  Langford's  level  gaze,  he  read  something 
therein,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  replaced  his  pistol,  and 
sauntered  off  with  his  companion  just  as  Judge  Dale 
came  upon  the  scene.  Langford  glanced  quickly  across 
[  179  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

the  table  at  Mary.  Her  eyes  were  wide  with  startled 
horror.  She,  too,  had  seen.  Just  above  Red  Sander 
son's  temple  and  extending  from  the  forehead  up  into 
the  hair  was  an  ugly  scar  —  not  like  that  left  by  a  cut, 
but  as  if  the  flesh  might  have  been  deeply  bruised  by 
some  blunt  weapon. 

"  Mary !    How  pale  you  are  ! "  cried  Louise,  in  alarm. 

"  I  'm  haunted  by  that  man,1'  she  continued,  biting 
her  lip  to  keep  from  crying  out  against  the  terrors  of 
this  country.  "  He 's  always  showing  up  in  unexpected 
places.  I  shall  die  if  I  ever  meet  him  alone." 

"You  need  not  be  afraid,"  said  Gordon,  speaking 
quietly  from  his  place  at  her  side.  Louise  flashed  him 
a  swift,  bewildering  smile  of  gratitude.  Then  she 
remembered  she  had  a  grievance  against  him  and 
she  stiffened.  But  then  the  feel  of  his  arms  came  to 
her  —  the  feel  that  she  had  scarcely  been  conscious  of 
yesterday  when  the  dark  water  lay  at  her  feet, —  and 
she  blushed,  and  studied  her  plate  diligently. 

Under  this  cover,  the  young  ranchman  comforted 
Mary,  whom  the  others  had  temporarily  forgotten,  with 
a  long,  caressing  look  from  his  handsome  eyes  that  was 
a  pledge  of  tireless  vigilance  and  an  un forgetting 
watchfulness  of  future  protection. 


[180] 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE  TRIAL 

THE  next  morning,  every  available  seat  was  filled 
early.  People  had  blocked  the  rough  plank 
walks  leading  to  the  court-house  long  before 
the  doors  were  unlocked.  The  day  promised  to  be 
fine,  and  the  many  teams  coming  and  going  between 
Kemah  and  the  river  to  pick  up  the  Velpen  people 
who  had  crossed  the  ice  on  foot  gave  to  the  little  town 
somewhat  of  the  gala  appearance  of  fair  time.  The 
stately  and  blanketed  Sioux  from  their  temporary 
camps  on  the  flat  were  standing  around,  uncommunica 
tive,  waiting  for  proceedings  to  begin.  Long  before 
the  judicial  party  had  arrived  from  the  hotel,  the 
cramped  room  was  crowded  to  its  limits.  There  was 
loud  talking,  laughing,  and  joking.  Local  wits  amused 
themselves  and  others  by  throwing  quips  at  different 
members  of  the  county  bar  or  their  brethren  from 
across  the  river,  as  they  walked  to  their  places  in 
side  the  railings  with  the  little  mannerisms  that 
were  peculiar  to  each.  Some  swaggered  with  their 
importance ;  others  bore  themselves  with  a  ludicrous 
and  exaggerated  dignity  ;  while  a  refreshing  few,  with 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

absolute  self-unconsciousness,  sat  down  for  the  work  in 
hand.  The  witty  cowboys,  restrained  by  no  bother 
some  feelings  of  delicacy,  took  off  every  one  in  running 
asides  that  kept  the  room  in  uproar.  Men  who  did 
not  chew  tobacco  ate  peanuts. 

The  door  in  the  rear  of  the  bar  opened  and  Judge 
Dale  entered.  A  comparative  quiet  fell  upon  the 
people.  He  mounted  to  his  high  bench.  The  clerk 
came  in,  then  the  court  reporter.  She  tossed  her  note 
books  on  the  table,  leisurely  pulled  off  her  gloves  and 
took  her  place,  examining  the  ends  of  her  pencils  with 
a  critical  eye.  It  would  be  a  busy  day  for  the  "gal 
reporter.""  Then  Langford  came  shoving  his  way  down 
the  crowded  aisle  with  a  sad-faced,  brown-eyed,  young 
woman  in  his  wake,  who  yet  held  herself  erect  with  a 
proud  little  tilt  to  her  chin.  There  was  not  an  empty 
seat  outside  the  bar.  Louise  motioned,  and  he  escorted 
Mary  to  a  place  within  and  sat  down  beside  her.  The 
jurymen  were  all  in  their  chairs.  Presently  came  in 
Gordon  with  his  quiet,  self-reliant  manner.  Langford 
had  been  right.  The  County  Attorney  was  not  tired 
to-day. 

Shortly  after  Gordon  came  Small  —  Small,  the 
dynamic,  whose  explosives  had  so  often  laid  waste  the 
weak  and  abortive  independent  reasoning  powers  of 
"  Old  Necessity  "  and  his  sort,  and  were  the  subject  of 
much  satire  and  some  admiration  when  the  legal  frater 
nity  talked  "shop.""  As  he  strode  to  his  place,  he 
[182] 


The  Trial 

radiated  bombs  of  just  and  telling  wrath.  He  scin 
tillated  with  aggressiveness.  With  him  came  Jesse 
Black,  easy  and  disdainful  as  of  old.  After  them,  a 
small  man  came  gliding  in  with  as  little  commotion  as 
if  he  were  sliding  over  the  floor  of  a  waxed  dancing 
hall  in  patent-leather  pumps.  He  was  an  unassuming 
little  man  with  quick,  cat-like  movements  which  one 
lost  if  one  were  not  on  the  alert.  When  he  had  slipped 
into  a  chair  next  his  associate,  Small,  the  inflammable 
Small,  towered  above  him  head  and  shoulders. 

"Every  inch  the  criminal,'"  audibly  observed  a 
stranger,  an  Englishman  over  to  invest  in  lands  for 
stocking  a  horse  ranch.  "  Strange  how  they  always 
wear  the  imprint  on  their  faces.  No  escaping  it.  I 
fancy  that  is  what  the  Scriptures  meant  by  the  mark 
of  Cain." 

The  remark  was  addressed  to  no  one  in  particular, 
but  it  reached  the  ears  of  Jim  Munson,  who  was 
standing  near. 

"  Good  Lord,  man  ! "  he  said,  with  a  grin,  "  that 's 
the  plumb  smartest  criminal  lawyer  in  the  hull  county. 
That 's  a  fac\  Lord,  Lord  !  Him  Jesse  Black?  " 

His  risibilities  continued  to  thus  get  the  better  of 
his  gravity  at  frequent  intervals  during  the  day.  He 
never  failed  to  snort  aloud  in  pure  delight  whenever 
he  thought  of  it.  What  a  tale  for  the  boys  when  he 
could  get  to  them  ! 

"These  cattle  men!"  This  time  the  tenderfoot 
[183] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

communicated  with  himself — he  had  a  square  chin 
and  a  direct  eye ;  there  were  possibilities  in  him. 
"  Their  perverted  sense  of  the  ridiculous  is  diabolical." 

There  were  others  who  did  not  know  the  little  man. 
He  hailed  from  the  southern  part  of  the  State.  But 
Gordon  knew  him.  He  knew  he  was  pitted  against 
one  of  the  sharpest,  shrewdest  men  of  his  day. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  think  we  are  ready,"  said  the  Judge, 
and  the  game  was  on  again. 

The  State  called  Paul  Langford,  its  principal  witness 
in  default  of  Williston. 

"  Your  name,  place  of  residence,  and  business  ? " 
asked  the  counsel  for  the  State. 

"  Paul  Langford.  I  reside  in  Kemah  County,  and 
I  own  and  operate  a  cattle  ranch." 

After  Langford  had  clearly  described  and  identified 
the  animal  in  question,  Gordon  continued: 

"  Mr.  Langford,  when  did  you  first  miss  this  steer  ?  " 

"  On  the  fifteenth  day  of  July  last." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  miss  this  steer  ?  " 

"  My  attention  was  called  to  the  fact  that  an  animal 
answering  this  description  and  bearing  my  brand  had 
been  seen  under  suspicious  detention." 

"Prior  to  information  thus  received,  you  were  not 
aware  this  creature  had  either  strayed  away  or  been 
stolen?" 

"I  was  not." 

"  Who  gave  you  this  information,  Mr.  Langford  ?  " 
[  184  ] 


The  Trial 

"  George  Williston  of  the  Lazy  S." 

"  Now  you  may  tell  the  jury  in  what  words  Williston 
told  you  about  the  steer  he  saw." 

This,  of  course,  was  objected  to  and  the  objection 
was  sustained  by  the  court,  as  Gordon  knew  it  would 
be.  He  only  wanted  the  jury  to  remember  that 
Williston  could  have  told  a  damaging  story  had  he 
been  here,  and  also  to  remember  how  mysteriously  this 
same  Williston  had  disappeared.  He  could  not  have 
Williston  or  Williston's  story,  but  he  might  keep  an 
impression  ever  before  these  twelve  men  that  there 
was  a  story  —  he  knew  it  and  they  knew  it,  —  a 
story  of  which  some  crotchet  of  the  law  forbade  the 
telling. 

"What  did  you  do  after  your  attention  had  been 
called  to  the  suspicious  circumstances  of  the  steer's 
detention  ?  " 

"  I  informed  my  boys  of  what  I  had  heard,  and  sent 
them  out  to  look  for  the  steer." 

"  That  same  day  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Were  they  successful  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Did  this  steer  have  a  particular  stamping  ground  ?  " 

«  He  did." 

"  Where  was  that  ?  " 

"  He  always  ranged  with  a  bunch  on  what  we  call 
the  home  range." 

[  185  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  Near  the  ranch  house  ?  " 

"  Within  half  a  mile." 

u  Did  you  look  for  him  yourself?1' 

« I  did." 

"  He  was  not  on  this  home  grazing  ground  ?  " 

"  He  was  not." 

"  Did  you  look  elsewhere  for  him  ?  " 

"  We  did." 

"Where?" 

"  We  rode  the  free  ranges  for  several  days — wherever 
any  of  my  cattle  held  out." 

"  How  many  days  did  you  say  you  rode  ?  " 

"  Why,  we  continued  to  look  sharp  until  my  boy, 
Munson,  found  him  the  day  before  the  preliminary  at 
the  Velpen  stock-yards,  on  the  point  of  being  shipped 
to  Sioux  City." 

"  You  went  to  Velpen  to  identify  this  steer  ?  " 

« I  did." 

"  It  was  your  steer  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  The  same  for  which  you  had  been  searching  so 
long?" 

"  The  very  same." 

"  It  was  wearing  your  brand  ?  " 

"  It  was  not." 

"  What  brand  was  it  wearing  ?  " 

"  J  R." 

"Where  was  it?" 

[186] 


The  Trial 

"  On  the  right  hip." 

"Where  do  you  usually  put  your  brand,  Mr. 
Langford?" 

"  On  the  right  hip.'1 

"  Do  you  always  brand  your  cattle  there  ?  " 

"  Always." 

"Do  you  know  any  J  R  outfit  ?" 

"  I  do  not/1 

Gordon  nodded  to  Small.  His  examination  had 
been  straightforward  and  to  the  point.  He  had  drawn 
alert  and  confident  answers  from  his  witness.  Invol 
untarily,  he  glanced  at  Louise,  who  had  not  seemed 
to  be  working  at  all  during  this  clean-cut  dialogue. 
She  flashed  a  fleeting  smile  at  him.  He  knew  he  was 
out  of  sympathy  with  the  great  majority  of  the  people 
down  there  in  front.  He  did  not  seem  to  care  so  much 
now.  A  great  medicine  is  a  womanly  and  an  under 
standing  smile.  It  flushed  his  face  a  bit,  too. 

Langford  was  most  unsatisfactory  under  cross- 
examination.  He  never  contradicted  himself,  and  was 
a  trifle  contemptuous  of  any  effort  to  tangle  him  up  in 
threads  of  his  own  weaving.  The  little  man  touched 
Small  on  the  arm  and  whispered  to  him. 

"Mr.  Langford,"  said  Small,  in  a  weighty  voice, 
"you  travel  a  great  deal,  I  believe?1' 

"  I  do." 

"  For  pleasure,  maybe  ?  "  with  a  mysterious  inflection. 

"Partly.11 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  Business  as  well  ?  " 

"  Business  as  well." 

"  Just  prior  to  the  arrest  of  the  defendant,11  insinua 
tingly,  "  you  were  away  ?  " 

"  How  long  prior  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Say  a  week."" 

"No." 

"Two  weeks?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  had  been  away  some  time  ?  " 

"The  better  part  of  a  year,"  confessed  Langford, 
with  engaging  candor. 

"Yes.  Now,  Mr.  Langford,  I  should  like  you  to 
tell  me  about  how  many  cattle  you  range  —  in  round 
numbers." 

"  About  five  thousand  head." 

"  Yes.  Now,  Mr.  Langford,  you  who  count  your 
cattle  by  the  thousands,  on  your  own  sworn  word  you 
have  been  out  of  the  country  a  year.  Don't  you  think 
you  are  asking  this  jury  to  swallow  a  pretty  big  mouth 
ful  when  you  ask  them  to  believe  that  you  could  so 
unmistakably  distinguish  this  one  poor  ornery  steer, 
who  has  so  little  to  distinguish  him  from  thousands 
of  others?" 

"I  have  owned   that  spotted  steer  for   years,"  said 
Langford,  composedly.     "  I  have  never  sold  him  because 
he  was   rather  an   odd   creature  and   so  cantankerous 
that  we  dubbed  him  the  Three  Bars  mascot." 
[188] 


The  Trial 

Gordon  called  Jim  Munson. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"Gosh!" 

The  question  was  unexpected.  Was  there  any  one 
in  the  county  who  did  not  know  Jim  Munson  ?  And 
Dick  Gordon  of  all  people  !  Then  he  remembered  that 
the  Boss  had  been  asked  the  same  question,  so  it  must 
be  all  right.  But  the  ways  of  the  court  were  surely 
mysterious  and  ofttimes  foolish. 

"Jim  Munson.     Jim  Munson 's  my  name — yep." 

Gordon  smiled. 

"  You  need  n't  insist  on  it,  Mr.  Munson,"  he  advised. 
"  We  know  it  now.  Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  Hellity  damn  !     I  live  at  the  Three  Bars  ranch." 

"In  Kemah  County?" 

"  It  sure  is." 

"  What  is  your  business,  Mr.  Munson  ?  " 

"Jim's  shorter,  Dick.  Well,  I  work  for  the  Boss, 
Mr.  Paul  Langford." 

"  In  what  capacity  ?  " 

"If  you  mean  what  do  I  do,  why,  I  ride  the  range,  I 
punch  cows,  I  always  go  on  the  round-up,  I  'm  a  fair 
bronco-breaker  and  I  make  up  bunks  and  clean  lamp 
chimblies  between  times,"  he  recited,  glibly,  bound  to 
be  terse  yet  explicit,  by  advice  of  the  Boss. 

There  was  a  gale  of  laughter  in  the  bar.  Even  the 
Court  smiled. 

"Oh,  Jim!  Jim!  You  have  perjured  yourself 
[  189  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

already  !  "  murmured  the  Boss.    "  Clean  lamp  chimneys 
—  ye  gods  ! " 

"  Well,  grin  away ! "  exploded  Jim,  his  quick  ire 
rising.  He  had  forgotten  that  Judge  Dale's  court  was 
not  like  Justice  McAllister's.  His  fingers  fairly  itched 
to  draw  a  pistol  and  make  the  scoffers  laugh  and  dance 
to  a  little  music  of  his  own.  But  something  in  Gor 
don's  steady  though  seemingly  careless  gaze  brought 
him  back  to  the  seriousness  of  the  scene  they  were 
playing  —  without  guns. 

The  examination  proceeded.  The  air  was  getting 
stifling.  Windows  were  thrown  open.  Damp-looking 
clouds  had  arisen  from  nowhere  seemingly  and  spread 
over  the  little  prairie  town,  over  the  river  and  the 
hills.  It  was  very  warm.  Weather-seasoned  inhabi 
tants  would  have  predicted  storm  had  they  not  been 
otherwise  engaged.  There  was  no  breath  of  air  stir 
ring.  Mrs.  Higgins  had  said  it  was  a  sorry  day  for  the 
cattle  when  the  river  was  running  in  December.  Others 
had  said  so  and  so  believed,  but  people  were  not  think 
ing  of  the  cattle  now.  One  big-boned,  long-horned 
steer  held  the  stage  alone. 

The  State  proceeded  to  Munson's  identification  of  the 
steer  in  question.  After  many  and  searching  questions, 
Gordon  asked  the  witness : 

"  Jim,  would  you  be  willing  to  swear  that  the  steer 
you  had  held  over  at  the  stock-yards  was  the  very  same 
steer  that  was  the  mascot  of  the  Three  Bars  ranch  ?  " 
[190] 


The  Trial 

This  was  Jim's  big  opportunity. 

"  Know  Mag  ?  Swear  to  Mag  ?  Dick,  I  would  know 
Mag  ef  I  met  him  on  the  golden  streets  of  the  eternal 
city  or  ef  my  eyes  was  full  o'  soundin'  cataracts  !  Yep." 

"  I  am  not  asking  such  an  impossible  feat,  Mr.  Mun- 
son,"  cut  in  Gordon,  nettled  by  the  digressions  of  one 
of  his  most  important  witnesses.  "  Answer  briefly, 
please.  Would  you  be  willing  to  swear?" 

Jim  was  jerked  back  to  the  beaten  track  by  the  sharp 
incision  of  Gordon's  rebuke.  No,  this  was  indeed  not 
Jimmie  Mac's  court. 

"  Yep,"  he  answered,  shortly. 

Billy  Brown  was  called.  After  the  preliminary  ques 
tions,  Gordon  said  to  him  : 

"Now,  Mr.  Brown,  please  tell  the  jury  how  you  came 
into  possession  of  the  steer." 

"  Well,  I  was  shippin'  a  couple  o'  car  loads  to  Sioux 
City,  and  I  was  drivin'  the  bunch  myself  with  a  couple 
o'  hands  when  I  meets  up  with  Jesse  Black  here.  He 
was  herdin'  a  likely  little  bunch  o'  a  half  dozen  or  so  — 
among  'em  this  spotted  feller.  He  said  he  was  n't  ship- 
pin'  any  this  Fall,  but  these  were  for  sale  —  part  of  a 
lot  he  had  bought  from  Yellow  Wolf.  So  the  upshot 
of  the  matter  was,  I  took  'em  off  his  hands.  I  was  just 
lackin'  'bout  that  many  to  make  a  good,  clean,  two  cars 
full." 

"You  took  a  bill-of-sale  for  them,  of  course,  Mr. 
Brown?" 

[191] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  I  sure  did.  I  'm  too  old  a  hand  to  buy  without  a 
bill-o'-sale." 

The  document  was  produced,  marked  as  an  exhibit, 
and  offered  in  evidence. 

The  hearing  of  testimony  for  the  State  went  on  all 
through  that  day.  It  was  late  when  the  State  rested 
its  case  —  so  late  that  the  defence  would  not  be  taken 
up  until  the  following  day.  It  was  all  in  —  for  weal  or 
for  woe.  In  some  way,  all  of  the  State's  witnesses  — 
with  the  possible  exception  of  Munson,  who  would  argue 
with  the  angel  Gabriel  at  the  last  day  and  offer  to  give 
him  lessons  in  trumpet-blowing  —  had  been  imbued  with 
the  earnest,  honest,  straightforward  policy  of  the  State's 
counsel.  Gordon's  friends  were  hopeful.  Langford 
was  jubilant,  and  he  believed  in  the  tolerable  integrity 
of  Gordon's  hard-won  jury.  Gordon's  presentation  of 
the  case  thus  far  had  made  him  friends ;  fickle  friends 
maybe,  who  would  turn  when  the  wind  turned  — 
to-morrow,  —  but  true  it  was  that  when  court  ad 
journed  late  in  the  afternoon,  many  who  had  jeered 
at  him  as  a  visionary  or  an  unwelcome  meddler  ac 
knowledged  to  themselves  that  they  might  have  erred 
in  their  judgment. 

As  on  the  previous  night,  Gordon  was  tired.  He 
walked  aimlessly  to  a  window  within  the  bar  and  leaned 
against  it,  looking  at  the  still,  oppressive,  cloudy 
dampness  outside,  with  the  early  December  darkness 
coming  on  apace.  Lights  were  already  twinkling  in 
[  192  ] 


The  Trial 

kitchens  where  housewives  were  busy  with  the  evening 
meal. 

"Well,  Dick,"  said  Langford,  coming  up  cheery  and 
confident. 

"Well,  Paul,  it's  all  in." 

"  And  well  in,  old  man." 

"I  —  don't  know,  Paul.  I  hope  so.  That  quiet  lit 
tle  man  from  down  country  has  not  been  much  heard 
from,  you  know.  I  am  afraid,  a  moral  uplift  is  n't  my 
stunt.  I  'm  tired !  I  feel  like  a  rag." 

Langford  was  called  away  for  a  moment.  When  he 
returned,  Gordon  was  gone.  He  was  not  at  supper. 

"  He  went  away  on  his  horse,"  explained  Louise,  in 
answer  to  Langford's  unspoken  question.  "  I  saw  him 
ride  into  the  country." 

When  the  party  separated  for  the  night,  Gordon  had 
not  yet  returned. 


13 


[193] 


CHAPTER   XVII 

GORDON   RIDES   INTO  THE  COUNTRY 

GORDON  rode  aimlessly  out  of  the  little  town 
with  its  twinkling  lights.  He  did  not  care 
where  he  went  or  what  direction  he  pursued. 
He  wanted  to  ride  off  a  strange,  enervating  dejection 
that  had  laid  hold  of  him  the  moment  his  last  testi 
mony  had  gone  in.  It  all  seemed  so  pitifully  inade 
quate  —  without  Williston,  —  now  that  it  was  all  in. 
Why  had  he  undertaken  it  ?  It  could  only  go  for 
another  defeat  counted  against  him.  Though  what 
was  one  defeat  more  or  less  when  there  had  been  so 
many  ?  It  would  be  nothing  new.  Was  he  not  pur 
suing  merely  the  old  beaten  trail  ?  Why  should  the 
thought  weigh  so  heavily  now  ?  Can  a  man  never 
attain  to  that  higher  —  or  lower,  which  is  it  ?  —  alti 
tude  of  strifeless,  unregretful  hardness  ?  Or  was  it,  he 
asked  himself  in  savage  contempt  of  his  weakness,  that, 
despite  all  his  generous  and  iron-clad  resolutions,  he 
had  secretly,  unconsciously  perhaps,  cherished  a  sweet, 
shy,  little  reservation  in  his  inmost  heart  that  maybe 
—  if  he  won  out  — 

"  You  poor  fool,1"  he  said,  aloud,  with  bitter  harsh 
ness, 

[191] 


Gordon  Rides  into  the  Country 

Suppose  he  did.  A  brave  specimen,  he,  if  he  had 
the  shameful  egoism  to  ask  a  girl  —  a  girl  like  Louise 
—  a  gentle,  highbred,  protected,  cherished  girl  like 
that  —  to  share  this  new,  bleak,  rough  life  with  him. 
But  the  very  sweetness  of  the  thought  of  her  doing 
it  made  him  gasp  there  in  the  darkness.  How  stifling 
the  air  was !  He  lifted  his  hat.  It  was  hard  to 
breathe.  It  was  like  the  still  oppressiveness  preceding 
an  electrical  storm.  His  mare,  unguided,  had  natu 
rally  chosen  the  main-travelled  trail  and  kept  it.  She 
followed  the  mood  of  her  master  and  walked  leisurely 
along  while  the  man  wrestled  with  himself. 

If  he  really  possessed  the  hardihood  to  ask  Louise  to 
do  this  for  him,  she  would  laugh  at  him.  Stay  !  That 
was  a  lie  —  a  black  lie.  She  would  not  laugh  —  not 
Louise.  She  was  not  of  that  sort.  Rather  would  she 
grieve  over  the  inevitable  sadness  of  it.  If  she  laughed, 
he  could  bear  it  better  —  he  had  good,  stubborn,  self- 
respecting  blood  in  him,  —  but  she  would  not  laugh. 
And  all  the  rest  of  his  long  life  must  be  spent  in 
wishing  —  wishing  —  if  it  could  have  been  !  But  he 
would  never  ask  her  to  do  it.  Not  even  if  the  impos 
sible  came  to  pass.  It  was  a  hard  country  on  women, 
a  hard,  treeless,  sun-seared,  unkindly  country.  Men 
could  stand  it  —  fight  for  its  future ;  but  not  women 
like  Louise.  It  made  men  as  well  as  unmade  them. 
And  after  all  it  did  not  prove  to  be  the  undoing  of 
men  so  much  as  it  developed  in  them  the  perhaps 
[  195  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

hitherto  hidden  fact  that  they  were  already  wanting. 
These  latent,  constitutional  weaknesses  thus  laid  bare, 
the  bad  must  for  a  while  prevail  —  bad  is  so  much 
noisier  than  good.  But  this  big,  new  country  with  its 
infinite  possibilities  —  give  it  time — it  would  form 
men  out  of  raw  material  and  make  over  men  mis 
takenly  made  when  that  was  possible,  or  else  show 
the  dividing  line  so  clearly  that  the  goats  might  not 
herd  with  the  sheep.  Some  day,  it  would  be  fit  for 
women  —  like  Louise.  Not  now.  Much  labor  and 
sorrow  must  be  lived  through  ;  there  must  be  many  mis 
takes,  many  experiments  tried,  there  must  be  much 
sacrifice  and  much  refining,  and  many  must  fall  and 
lose  in  the  race  before  its  big  destiny  be  worked  out 
and  it  be  fit  for  women  —  like  Louise.  Down  in  the 
southern  part  of  the  State,  and  belonging  to  it,  a 
certain  big  barred  building  sheltered  many  women, 
when  the  sun  of  the  treeless  prairies  and  the  gazing 
into  the  lonesome  distances  surrounding  their  home 
steads  seeped  into  their  brains  and  stayed  there  so  that 
they  knew  not  what  they  did.  There  were  trees  there 
and  fountains  and  restful  blue-grass  in  season,  and 
flowers,  flowers,  flowers  —  but  these  came  too  late  for 
most  of  the  women. 

Louise  was  not  of  that  sort.     The  roughness  and  the 

loneliness  would  simply  wear  her  away  and  she  would 

die  —  smiling  to  the  last.     What  leering  fate  had  led 

her  hither  to  show  him  what  he  had  missed  by  choosing 

[196] 


Gordon  Rides  into  the  Country 

as  he  had  chosen  to  throw  himself  into  the  thankless 
task  of  preparing  a  new  country  for  —  a  future  genera 
tion  ?  This  accomplished,  she  would  flit  lightly  away 
and  never  know  the  misery  she  had  left  behind  or 
the  flavor  and  zest  she  had  filched  from  the  work 
of  one  man,  at  least,  who  had  entered  upon  it  with 
lofty  ambition,  high  hopes,  and  immutable  purpose. 
What  then  would  he  have  wished  ?  That  she  had  not 
come  at  all? 

He  smiled.  If  Louise  could  have  seen  that  smile,  or 
the  almost  dewy  softness  which  stole  into  his  eyes  — 
the  eyes  that  were  too  keen  for  everyday  living !  That 
he  loved  her  was  the  one  thing  in  life  worth  while. 
Then  why  rail  at  fate?  If  he  had  not  chosen  as  he 
had,  he  should  never  have  known  Louise.  He  must 
have  gone  through  life  without  that  dear,  exquisite, 
solemn  sense  of  her  —  in  his  arms  —  those  arms  to  which 
it  had  been  given  to  draw  her  back  from  a  cruel  death. 
That  fulfilment  was  his  for  all  time.  How  sweet  she 
was !  He  seemed  to  feel  again  the  soft  pressure  of 
her  clinging  arms,  —  remembering  how  his  lips  had 
brushed  her  fair  hair.  If  it  had  been  Langford,  now, 
who  was  guilty  of  so  ridiculous  a  sentimentalism  —  the 
bold,  impetuous,  young  ranchman  —  he  smiled  at  him 
self  whimsically.  Then  he  pulled  himself  together. 
He  did  not  think  the  jury  could  believe  the  story 
Jesse  Black  would  trump  up,  no  matter  how  plausible 
it  was  made  to  sound.  He  felt  more  like  himself,  — 
[197] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

in  better  condition  to  meet  those  few  but  stanch  friends 
of  his  from  whom  he  had  so  summarily  run  away,  — 
stronger  to  meet  —  Louise.  Man-like,  now  that  he  was 
himself  again,  he  must  know  the  time.  He  struck  a 
match. 

"  Why,  Lena,  old  girl,  we  've  been  taking  our  time, 
haven't  we?  They  are  likely  through  supper,  but 
maybe  I  can  wheedle  a  doughnut  out  of  the  cook." 

The  match  burned  out.  Not  until  he  had  tossed 
it  away  did  it  come  to  him  that  they  were  no  longer 
on  the  main  trail. 

"Now,  that's  funny,  old  girl,"  he  scolded.  "What 
made  you  be  so  unreasonable  ?  Well,  we  started  with 
our  noses  westward,  so  you  must  have  wandered  into 
the  old  Lazy  S  branch  trail.  Though,  to  be  sure,  it 
has  been  such  a  deuce  of  a  while  since  we  travelled  it 
that  I  wonder  at  you,  Lena.  Well,  we  '11  just  jog  back. 
What 's  the  matter  now,  silly  ?  " 

His  mare  had  shied.  He  turned  her  nose  resolutely, 
domineeringly,  back  toward  the  spot  objected  to. 

"I  can't  see  what  you're  scared  at,  but  we'll  just 
investigate  and  show  you  how  foolish  a  thing  is 
feminine  squeamishness." 

A  shadowy  form  arose  out  of  the  darkness.  It 
approached. 

"Is  that  you,  Dick?" 

Gordon  was  not  a  superstitious  man,  yet  he  felt 
suddenly  cold  to  the  crown  of  his  head.  It  was  not 
[  198  ] 


Gordon  Rides  into  the  Country 

so  dark  as  it  might  have  been.  There  would  have  been 
a  moon  had  it  not  been  cloudy.  Dimly,  he  realized 
that  the  man  had  arisen  from  the  ruins  of  what  must 
have  been  the  old  Williston  homestead.  The  outlines 
of  the  stone  stoop  were  vaguely  visible  in  the  half  light. 
The  solitary  figure  had  been  crouched  there,  brooding. 

"  I  'm  flesh  and  blood,  Dick,  never  fear,"  said  the 
man  in  a  mournful  voice.  "I'm  hungry  enough  to 
vouch  for  that.  You  needn't  be  afraid.  I  'm  anything 
but  a  spirit." 

"  Williston ! "  The  astonished  word  burst  from 
Gordon's  lips.  "  Williston  !  Is  it  really  you  ?  " 

"  None  other,  my  dear  Gordon !  Sorry  I  startled 
you.  I  saw  your  light  and  heard  your  voice  speaking 
to  your  horse,  and  as  you  were  the  very  man  I  was  on 
the  point  of  seeking,  I  just  naturally  came  forward, 
forgetting  that  my  friends  would  very  likely  look  upon 
me  in  the  light  of  a  ghost." 

"  Williston  !  My  dear  fellow  !  "  repeated  Gordon 
again.  "  It  is  too  good  to  be  true,"  he  cried,  leaping 
from  his  mare  and  extending  both  hands  cordially. 
"  Shake,  old  man !  My,  the  feel  of  you  is  —  bully. 
You  are  flesh  and  blood  all  right.  You  always  did 
have  a  good,  honest  shake  for  a  fellow.  I  don't  know, 
though.  Seems  to  me  you  have  been  kind  o'  running 
to  skin  and  bones  since  I  last  saw  you.  Grip's  good, 
but  bony.  You  're  thinner  than  ever,  are  n't  you  ? " 

All  this  time  he  was  shaking  Williston's  hands 
[199] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

heartily.  He  never  thought  of  asking  him  where  he 
had  been.  For  weary  months  he  had  longed  for  this 
man  to  come  back.  He  had  come  back.  That  was 
enough  for  the  present.  He  had  always  felt  genu 
inely  friendly  toward  the  unfortunate  scholar  and  his 
daughter. 

"  That 's  natural,  is  n't  it  ?  Besides,  they  forgot  my 
rations  sometimes." 

"  Who,  Williston  ?  "  asked  Gordon,  the  real  signifi 
cance  of  the  man's  return  taking  quick  hold  of  him. 

"  I  think  you  know,  Gordon,11  said  the  older  man, 
quietly.  "It  is  a  long  story.  I  was  coming  to  you. 
I  will  tell  you  everything.  Shall  I  begin  now  ?  " 

"  Are  you  in  any  danger  of  pursuit  ?  "  asked  Gordon, 
suddenly  bethinking  himself. 

"  I  think  not.  I  killed  my  jailer,  the  half-breed, 
Nightbird." 

"  You  did  well.     So  did  Mary." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Did  n't  you  know  that  Mary  shot  and  killed  one 
of  the  desperadoes  that  night  ?  At  least,  we  have 
every  reason  to  think  it  was  Mary.  By  the  way,  you 
have  not  asked  after  her." 

The  man's  head  drooped.  He  did  not  answer  for  a 
long  time.  When  he  raised  his  head,  his  face,  though 
showing  indistinctly,  was  hard  and  drawn.  He  spoke 
with  little  emotion  as  a  man  who  had  sounded  the 
gamut  of  despair  and  was  now  far  spent. 
[200] 


Gordon  Rides  into  the  Country 

"  What  was  the  use  ?  I  saw  her  fall,  Gordon.  She 
stood  with  me  to  the  end.  She  was  a  brave  little  girl. 
She  never  once  faltered.  Dick,"  he  said,  his  voice 
changing  suddenly,  and  laying  hot,  feverish  hands  on 
the  young  man's  shoulders,  "  we  '11  hang  them  —  you 
and  I  —  we  11  hang  them  every  one,  —  the  devils  who 
look  like  men,  but  who  strike  at  women.  We  11  hang 
them,  I  say  —  you  and  I.  I  've  got  the  evidence.*" 

"  Is  it  possible  they  did  n't  tell  you  ?  "  cried  Gordon, 
aghast  at  the  amazing  cruelty  of  it. 

"  Tell  me  anything  ?  Not  they.  She  was  such  a 
good  girl,  Dick.  There  never  was  a  better.  She  never 
complained.  She  never  got  her  screens,  poor  girl.  I 
wish  she  could  have  had  her  screens  before  they 
murdered  her.  Where  did  you  lay  her,  Dick  ? " 

"  Mr.  Williston,"  said  Dick,  taking  firm  hold  of  the 
man's  burning  hands  and  speaking  with  soothing  calm 
ness,  "  forgive  me  for  not  telling  you  at  once.  I 
thought  you  knew.  I  never  dreamed  that  you  might 
have  been  thinking  all  the  while  that  Mary  was  dead. 
She  is  alive  and  well  and  with  friends.  She  only 
fainted  that  night.  Come,  brace  up !  Why,  man 
alive,  are  n't  you  glad  ?  Well,  then,  don't  go  to  pieces 
like  a  child.  Come,  brace  up,  I  tell  you  !w 

"  You  —  you  —  would  n't  lie  to  me,  would  you, 
Dick  ? " 

u  As  God  is  my  witness,  Mary  is  alive  and  in  Kemah 
this  minute  —  unless  an  earthquake  has  swallowed  the 
[201  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

hotel  during  my  absence.  I  saw  her  less  than  two 
hours  ago." 

"  Give  me  a  minute,  my  dear  fellow,  will  you  ?  I  — 
I  —  11 

He  walked  blindly  away  a  few  steps  and  sat  down 
once  more  on  the  ruins  of  his  homestead.  Gordon 
waited.  The  man  sat  still  —  his  head  buried  in  his 
hands.  Gordon  approached,  leading  his  mare,  and  sat 
down  beside  him. 

"  Now  tell  me,"  he  said,  with  simple  directness. 

An  hour  later,  the  two  men  separated  at  the  door  of 
the  Whites'  claim  shanty. 

"  Lie  low  here  until  I  send  for  you,11  was  Gordon's 
parting  word. 


[202] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

FIRE! 

THE  wind  arose  along  toward  midnight  —  the 
wind  that  many  a  hardened  inhabitant  would 
have  foretold  hours  before  had  he  been  master 
of  his  time  and  thoughts.  As  a  rule,  no  signal  service 
was  needed  in  the  cow  country.  Men  who  practically 
lived  in  the  open  had  a  natural  right  to  claim  some 
close  acquaintance  with  the  portents  of  approaching 
changes.  But  it  would  have  been  well  had  some  storm 
flag  waved  over  the  little  town  that  day.  For  the 
wind  that  came  slipping  up  in  the  night,  first  in  little 
sighing  whiffs  and  skirmishes,  gradually  growing  more 
impatient,  more  domineering,  more  utterly  contemp 
tuous,  haughty,  and  hungry,  sweeping  down  from  its 
northwest  camping  grounds,  carried  a  deadly  menace 
in  its  yet  warm  breath  to  the  helpless  and  unprotected 
cattle  huddled  together  in  startled  terror  or  already 
beginning  their  migration  by  intuition,  running  with 
the  wind. 

It  rattled  loose  window-casings  in  the  hotel,  so  that 

people  turned  uneasily  in  their  beds.     It  sent  strange 

creatures  of  the  imagination  to  prowl  about.     Cowmen 

thought  of  the  depleted  herds  when  the  riders  should 

[203] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

come  in  off  the  free  ranges  in  the  Spring  should  that 
moaning  wind  mean  a  real  northwester. 

Louise  was  awakened  by  a  sudden  shriek  of  wind 
that  swept  through  the  slight  aperture  left  by  the 
raised  window  and  sent  something  crashing  to  the  floor. 
She  lay  for  a  moment  drowsily  wondering  what  had 
fallen.  Was  it  anything  that  could  be  broken  ?  She 
heard  the  steady  push  of  the  wind  against  the  frail 
frame  building,  and  knew  she  ought  to  compel  herself 
sufficiently  to  be  aroused  to  close  the  window.  But 
she  was  very  sleepy.  The  crash  had  not  awakened 
Mary.  She  was  breathing  quietly  and  deeply.  But 
she  would  be  amenable  to  a  touch  —  just  a  light  one 
—  and  she  did  not  mind  doing  things.  How  mean, 
though,  to  administer  it  in  such  a  cause.  She  could 
not  do  it.  The  dilapidated  green  blind  was  flapping 
dismally.  What  time  was  it?  Maybe  it  was  nearly 
morning,  and  then  the  wind  would  probably  go  down. 
That  would  save  her  from  getting  up.  She  snuggled 
under  the  covers  and  prepared  to  slip  deliciously  off 
into  slumber  again. 

But  she  could  n't  go  to  sleep  after  all.  A  haunting 
suspicion  preyed  on  her  waking  faculties  that  the  crash 
might  have  been  the  water  pitcher.  She  had  been 
asleep  and  could  not  gauge  the  shock  of  the  fall.  It 
had  seemed  terrific,  but  what  awakens  one  from  sleep 
is  always  abnormal  to  one's  startled  and  unremember- 
ing  consciousness.  Still,  it  might  have  been  the  pitcher. 
[204] 


Fire! 

She  cherished  no  fond  delusion  as  to  the  impenetra 
bility  of  the  warped  cottonwood  flooring.  Water 
might  even  then  be  trickling  through  to  the  room 
below.  She  found  herself  wondering  where  the  bed 
stood,  and  that  thought  brought  her  sitting  up  in  a 
hurry  only  to  remember  that  she  was  over  the  musty 
sitting-room  with  its  impossible  carpet.  She  would 
be  glad  to  see  it  soaked  —  it  might  put  a  little  color 
into  it,  temporarily  at  least,  and  lay  the  dust  of  ages. 
But,  sitting  up,  she  felt  herself  enveloped  in  a  gale 
of  wind  that  played  over  the  bed,  and  so  wisely  con 
cluded  that  if  she  wished  to  see  this  court  through 
without  the  risk  of  grippe  or  pneumonia  complica 
tions,  she  had  better  close  that  window.  So  she 
slipped  cautiously  out  of  bed,  nervously  apprehensive 
of  plunging  her  feet  into  a  pool  of  water.  It  had 
not  been  the  pitcher  after  all.  Even  after  the  window 
was  closed,  there  seemed  to  be  much  air  in  the  room. 
The  blind  still  flapped,  though  at  longer  intervals. 
If  it  really  turned  cold,  how  were  they  to  live  in  that 
barn-like  room,  she  and  Mary  ?  She  thought  of  the 
campers  out  on  the  flat  and  shivered.  She  looked  out 
of  the  window  musingly  a  moment.  It  was  dark.  She 
wondered  if  Gordon  had  come  home.  Of  course  he  was 
home.  It  must  be  nearly  morning.  Her  feet  were 
getting  cold,  so  she  crept  back  into  bed.  The  next 
thing  of  which  she  was  conscious,  Mary  was  shaking 
her  excitedly. 

[205  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  sleepily. 
"  Louise  !  There 's  a  fire  somewhere  !  Listen  !  " 
Some  one  rushed  quickly  through  the  hall ;  others 
followed,  knocking  against  the  walls  in  the  darkness. 
Then  the  awful,  heart-clutching  clang  of  a  bell  rang 
out  —  near,  insistent,  metallic.  It  was  the  meeting 
house  bell.  There  was  no  other  in  the  town.  The 
girls  sprang  to  the  floor.  The  thought  had  found 
swift  lodgment  in  the  mind  of  each  that  the  hotel 
was  on  fire,  and  in  that  moment  Louise  thought  of  the 
poisoned  meat  that  had  once  been  served  to  some  arch 
enemies  of  the  gang  whose  chief  was  now  on  trial  for 
his  liberty.  So  quickly  does  the  brain  work  under  stress 
of  great  crises,  that,  even  before  she  had  her  shoes  and 
stockings  on,  she  found  herself  wondering  who  was  the 
marked  victim  this  time.  Not  Williston,  —  he  was 
dead.  Not  Gordon,  —  he  slept  in  his  own  room  back 
of  the  office.  Not  Langford,  —  he  was  bunking  with 
his  friend  in  that  same  room.  Jim  Munson  ?  Or  was 
the  Judge  the  proscribed  one  ?  He  was  not  a  corrupt 
judge.  He  could  not  be  bought.  It  might  be  he. 
Mary  had  gone  to  the  window. 

"  Louise  ! "  she  gasped.     "  The  court-house  ! " 
True.     The  cloudy  sky  was  reddened  above  the  poor 
little  temple  of  justice  where  for  days  and  weeks  the  tide 
of  human  interest  of  a  big  part  of  a  big  State  —  ay, 
a  big  part  of  all  the  northwest  country,  maybe  —  had 
been  steadily  setting  in  and  had  reached  its  culmination 
[206] 


Fire! 

only  yesterday,  when  a  gray-eyed,  drooping-shouldered, 
firm-jawed  young  man  had  at  last  faced  quietly  in  the 
bar  of  his  court  the  defier  of  the  cow  country.  To 
night,  it  would  dance  its  little  measure,  recite  its  few 
lines  on  its  little  stage  of  popularity  before  an  audience 
frenzied  with  appreciation  and  interest ;  to-morrow,  it 
would  be  a  heap  of  ashes,  its  scene  played  out. 

"  My  note  books ! "  cried  Louise,  in  a  flash  of  com 
prehension.  She  dressed  hastily.  Shirt-waist  was  too 
intricate,  so  she  threw  on  a  gay  Japanese  kimono ;  her 
jacket  and  walking-skirt  concealed  the  limitations  of 
her  attire. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  asked  Mary,  also  put 
ting  on  clothes  which  were  easy  of  adjustment.  She  had 
never  gone  to  fires  in  the  old  days  before  she  had  come 
to  South  Dakota ;  but  if  Louise  went  —  gentle,  high 
bred  Louise  —  why,  she  would  go  too,  that  was  all 
there  was  about  it.  She  had  constituted  herself  Louise's 
guardian  in  this  rough  life  that  must  be  so  alien  to  the 
Eastern  girl.  Louise  had  been  very  good  to  her. 
Louise's  startled  cry  about  her  note  books  carried  little 
understanding  to  her.  She  was  not  used  to  court  and 
its  ways. 

They  hastened  out  into  the  hallway  and  down  the 
stairs.  They  saw  no  one  whom  they  knew,  though 
men  were  still  dodging  out  from  unexpected  places  and 
hurrying  down  the  street.  It  seemed  impossible  that 
the  inconveniently  built,  diminutive  prairie  hotel  could 
[  207  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

accommodate  so  many  people.  Louise  found  herself 
wondering  where  they  had  been  packed  away.  The 
men,  carelessly  dressed  as  they  were,  their  hair  shaggy 
and  unkempt,  always  with  pistols  in  belt  or  hip-pocket 
or  hand,  made  her  shiver  with  dread.  They  looked  so 
wild  and  weird  and  fierce  in  the  dimly  lighted  hall. 
She  clutched  Mary's  arm  nervously,  but  no  thought  of 
returning  entered  her  mind.  Probably  the  Judge  was 
already  on  the  court-house  grounds.  He  would  want 
to  save  some  valuable  books  he  had  been  reading  in  his 
official  quarters.  So  they  went  out  into  the  bleak  and 
windy  night.  They  were  immediately  enveloped  in  a 
wild  gust  that  nearly  swept  them  off  their  feet  as  it 
came  tearing  down  the  street.  They  clung  together 
for  a  moment. 

"  It  11  burn  like  hell  in  this  wind  ! "  some  one  cried, 
as  a  bunch  of  men  hurried  past  them.  The  words 
were  literally  whipped  out  of  his  mouth.  "  Won't 
save  a  thing." 

Flames  were  bursting  out  of  the  front  windows 
upstairs.  The  sky  was  all  alight.  Sparks  were  tossed 
madly  southward  by  the  wind.  There  was  grave  danger 
for  buildings  other  than  the  one  already  doomed.  The 
roar  of  the  wind  and  the  flames  was  well-nigh  deafening. 
The  back  windows  and  stairs  seemed  clear. 

"  Hurry,  Mary,  hurry ! "  cried  Louise,  above  the 
roar,  and  pressed  forward,  stumbling  and  gasping  for 
the  breath  that  the  wild  wind  coveted.  It  was  not  far 
[208] 


Fire! 

they  had  to  go.  There  was  a  jam  of  men  in  the  yard. 
More  were  coming  up.  But  there  was  nothing  to  do. 
Men  shook  their  heads  and  shrugged  their  shoulders 
and  watched  the  progress  of  the  inevitable  with  the 
placidity  engendered  of  the  potent  4<  It  can't  be  helped." 
But  some  things  might  have  been  saved  that  were  not 
saved  had  the  first  on  the  grounds  not  rested  so  securely 
on  that  quieting  inevitability.  As  the  girls  came 
within  the  crowded  circle  of  light,  they  overheard  some 
thing  of  a  gallant  attempt  on  the  part  of  somebody  to 
save  the  county  records  —  they  did  not  hear  whether 
or  no  the  attempt  had  been  successful.  They  made 
their  way  to  the  rear.  It  was  still  dark. 

"  Louise  !  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  cried  Mary, 
in  consternation.  There  were  few  people  on  this  side. 
Louise  put  her  hand  deliberately  to  the  door-knob. 
It  gave  to  her  pressure  —  the  door  swung  open.  Some 
one  stumbled  out  blindly  and  leaned  against  the  wall 
for  a  moment,  his  hands  over  his  eyes. 

"I  can't  do  it,"  he  said,  aloud,  "I  can't  reach  the 
vaults." 

Louise  slipped  past  him  and  was  within  the  door 
way,  closely  followed  by  the  frantic  Mary. 

The  man  cried  out  sharply,  and  stretched  out  a 
detaining  hand.  "  Are  you  crazy  ?  Come  back  ! " 

"  Mr.  Gordon !  "  cried  Louise,  with  a  little  sob  of 
relief,  "  is  it  really  you  ?  Let  me  go  —  quick  —  my 
note  books ! " 

1*  [  209  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

A  thick  cloud  of  smoke  at  that  moment  came  rolling 
down  the  back  stairs.  It  enveloped  them.  It  went 
down  their  throats  and  made  them  cough.  The  man, 
throwing  an  arm  over  the  shoulders  of  the  slender  girl 
who  had  started  up  after  the  first  shock  of  the  smoke 
had  passed  away,  pushed  her  gently  but  firmly  outside. 

"  Don't  let  her  come,  Mary,"  he  called  back,  clearly. 
"I'll  get  the  note  books  —  if  I  can."  Then  he  was 
gone  —  up  the  smoke- wreathed  stairway. 

Outside,  the  girls  waited.  It  seemed  hours.  The 
wind,  howling  around  the  corners,  whipped  their  skirts. 
There  was  a  colder  edge  to  it.  Fire  at  last  broke  out 
of  the  back  windows  simultaneously  with  the  sound  of 
breaking  glass,  and  huge  billows  of  released  black  smoke 
surged  out  from  the  new  outlet.  Louise  started  for 
ward.  She  never  knew  afterward  just  what  she  meant 
to  do,  but  she  sprang  away  from  Mary's  encircling  arm 
and  ran  up  the  little  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  door 
from  which  she  had  been  so  unceremoniously  thrust. 
Afterward,  when  they  told  her,  she  realized  what  her 
impulsive  action  meant,  but  now  she  did  not  think. 
She  was  only  conscious  of  some  wild,  vague  impulse  to 
fly  to  the  help  of  the  man  who  would  even  now  be  safe 
in  blessed  outdoors  had  it  not  been  for  her  and  her 
foolish  woman's  whim.  She  had  sent  him  to  his  death. 
What  were  those  wretched  note  books  —  what  was 
anything  at  all  in  comparison  to  his  life!  So  she 
stumbled  blindly  up  the  steps.  The  wind  had  slammed 
[  310  ] 


Fire! 

the  door  shut.  It  was  a  cruel  obstacle  to  keep  her 
back.  She  wrenched  it  open.  The  clouds  of  smoke 
that  met  her,  rolling  out  of  their  imprisonment  like 
pent-up  steam,  choked  her,  blinded  her,  beat  her 
back.  She  strove  impotently  against  it.  She  tried  to 
fight  it  off  with  her  hands  —  those  little  intensely 
feminine  hands  whose  fortune  Gordon  longed  to  take 
upon  himself  forever  and  forever.  They  were  so  small 
and  weak  to  fend  for  themselves.  But  small  as  they 
were,  it  was  a  good  thing  they  did  that  night.  Now 
Mary  had  firm  hold  of  her  and  would  not  let  her  go. 
She  struggled  desperately  and  tried  to  push  her  off, 
but  vainly,  for  Mary  had  twice  her  strength. 

"  Mary,  I  shall  never  forgive  you  — " 

She  did  not  finish  her  sentence,  for  at  that  moment 
Gordon  staggered  out  into  the  air.  He  sat  down  on 
the  bottom  step  as  if  he  were  drunk,  but  little  darts 
of  flame  colored  the  surging  smoke  here  and  there  in 
weird  splotches  and,  suddenly  calm  now  that  there  was 
something  to  do,  Mary  and  Louise  led  him  away  from 
the  doomed  building  where  the  keen  wind  soon  blew 
the  choking  smoke  from  his  eyes  and  throat. 

"  I  Ve  swallowed  a  ton,"  he  said,  recovering  himself 
quickly.  "  I  could  n't  get  them,  Louise."  He  did  not 
know  he  called  her  so. 

"  Oh,  what  does  it  matter  ?  "  cried  Louise,  earnestly. 
"  Only  forgive  me  for  sending  you." 

"  As  I  remember  it,  I  sent  myself,"  said  Gordon, 
[  211  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

with  a  humorous  smile,  "and,  I  am  afraid,  tumbled 
one  little  girl  rather  unceremoniously  down  the  stairs. 
Did  I  hurt  you?""  There  was  a  caressing  cadence  in 
the  question  that  he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  keep 
out  of  his  voice. 

"  I  did  not  even  know  I  tumbled.  How  did  you  get 
back  ?  "  said  Louise,  tremulously. 

"Who  opened  the  door?"  counter-questioned  Gor 
don,  remembering.  "  The  wind  must  have  blown 
it  shut.  I  was  blinded  —  I  could  n't  find  it  —  I 
could  n't  breathe.  I  did  n't  have  sense  enough  to 
know  it  was  shut,  but  I  could  n't  have  helped  myself 
anyway.  I  groped  for  it  as  long  as  I  could  without 
breathing.  Then  I  guess  I  must  have  gone  off  a  little, 
for  I  was  sprawling  on  the  floor  of  the  lower  hall  when 
I  felt  a  breath  of  air  playing  over  me.  Somebody 
must  have  opened  the  door  —  because  I  am  pretty  sure 
I  had  fainted  or  done  some  foolish  thing.'1 

Louise  was  silent.  She  was  thankful  —  thankful ! 
God  had  been  very  good  to  her.  It  had  been  given  to 
her  to  do  this  thing.  She  had  not  meant  to  do  it  —  she 
had  not  known  what  she  did ;  enough  that  it  was  done. 

"  It  was  Louise,"  spoke  up  Mary,  "  and  I  — tried  to 
hold  her  back  ! "  So  she  accused  herself. 

"  But  I  did  n't  do  it  on  purpose,"  said  Louise,  with 
shining  eyes.  "I  —  I  —  " 

"Yes,  you — "  prompted  Gordon,  looking  at  her 
with  tender  intentness. 


Fire! 

"I  guess  I  was  trying  to  come  after  you,1'  she 
confessed.  "  It  was  very  —  foolish." 

The  rear  grounds  were  rapidly  filling  up.  Like 
children  following  a  band-wagon,  the  crowd  surged 
toward  the  new  excitement  of  the  discovered  extension 
of  the  fire.  Gordon  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  I  thank  God  for  your  —  foolishness,"  he  said, 
simply,  smiling  the  smile  his  friends  loved  him  for. 


[213] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AN  UNCONVENTIONAL  TEA  PARTY 

AS  the  flames  broke  through  the  roof,  Langford 
came  rushing  up  where  the  group  stood  a  little 
apart  from  the  press. 

"  Dick  !  I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere," 
he  cried,  hoarsely. 

"  What  "s  the  trouble,  old  man  ? "  asked  Gordon, 
quietly. 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  said  Langford,  in 
a  low  voice.  "  Come  quick  —  let 's  go  back  to  your 
rooms.  Why,  girls — " 

"We  will  go,  too,"  said  Mary,  with  quiet  decision. 
She  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  Red  Sanderson's  face 
through  the  crowd,  and  she  thought  he  had  leered 
at  her.  She  had  been  haunted  by  the  vague  feeling 
that  she  must  have  known  the  man  who  had  attempted 
to  carry  her  off —  that  dreadful  night ;  but  she  had 
never  been  able  to  concentrate  the  abstract,  fleeting  im 
pressions  into  comprehensive  substance  —  never  until 
she  had  seen  that  scar  and  glancing  away  in  terror  saw 
that  Langford,  too,  had  seen  ;  but  she  was  not  brave 
enough  to  lose  herself  and  Louise  in  the  crowd  where 
that  man  was.  She  could  not.  He  had  leered  at 
[214] 


An  Unconventional  Tea  Party 

Louise,  too,  last  night  at  supper.  They  could  not 
ask  the  protection  of  Gordon  and  Langford  back  to 
the  hotel  then,  when  Langford's  handsome,  tanned  face 
was  white  with  the  weight  of  what  he  had  to  tell. 

"  It  will  be  best,"  he  agreed,  unexpectedly.  "  Come 
—  we  must  hurry!  " 

It  was  Williston^s  "  little  girl "  whom  he  took  under 
his  personal  protection,  diving  up  the  street  in  the 
teeth  of  the  gale  which  blew  colder  every  moment, 
with  a  force  and  strength  that  kept  Mary  half  the 
time  off  her  feet.  A  gentler  knight  was  Gordon  — 
though  as  manly.  All  was  dark  around  the  premises. 
There  was  no  one  lurking  near.  Everybody  was  danc 
ing  attendance  on  the  court-house  holocaust.  Gordon 
felt  for  his  keys. 

"  How  good  it  is  to  get  out  of  the  wind,"  whispered 
Louise.  This  proceeding  smacked  so  much  of  the  mys 
terious  that  whispering  followed  as  a  natural  sequence. 

They  stepped  within.     It  was  inky  black. 

"  Lock  the  door,"  said  Langford,  in  a  low  voice. 

Gordon  complied,  surprised,  but  asking  no  question. 
He  knew  his  friend,  and  had  faith  in  his  judgment. 
Then  he  lighted  a  lamp  that  stood  on  his  desk. 

"  Why  did  you  do  that  ?  "  asked  Louise,  gravely. 

"What?" 

"  Lock  the  door." 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  honestly.     "  I  did  n't 
think  you  would  notice  the  click.     Ask  Paul." 
[215] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  I  '11  explain  in  a  minute,"  said  Langford.  He 
stepped  to  the  windows  and  drew  the  blinds  closely. 
"  Now  that  I  have  you  safe,"  he  said,  lightly,  "  1 11 
confess  I  had  an  old  woman's  scare.  It  came  to  me 
that  as  long  as  you  are  not,  strictly  speaking,  on  kind 
and  loving  terms  with  —  every  one  west  of  the  river,  — 
and  this  being  such  an  all-round  nasty  night  anyway, 
why,  I'd  just  spirit  you  home  and  give  the  charged 
atmosphere  a  chance  of  clearing  a  little." 

Gordon  looked  at  him  steadily  a  moment.  His  face 
did  not  pale.  Yet  he  knew  that  Langford  had  heard 
—  or  suspected  —  more  than  he  intended  to  tell  — 
then.  It  was  good  to  see  him  shrug  his  shoulders  in 
unconcern  for  the  sake  of  the  two  white-faced  girls  who 
sat  there  in  his  stiff  office  chairs. 

"  You  are  an  old  duffer,  Paul,"  he  said,  in  pre 
tended  annoyance.  "You  treat  me  like  a  child.  I 
won't  stand  it  always.  You  11  see.  Some  day  1 11 
rebel  —  and  —  then  —  " 

"Meanwhile,  111  just  trot  these  ladies  back  to  the 
hotel,"  said  Langford.  "  But  you  must  promise  to 
keep  your  head  inside.  We're  fixtures  until  we  have 
that  promise." 

"What,  lock  me  up  and  run  off  with — all  the 
ladies  !  I  guess  not !  Why  did  n't  we  round  up  that 
way,  I  'd  like  to  know  ?  This  is  n't  Utah,  Paul.  You 
can't  have  both." 

Paul  meant  for  him  to  lie  low,  then.     He  was  also 
[216] 


An  Unconventional  Tea  Party 

in  a  hurry  to  get  the  girls  away.  Evidently  the 
danger  lay  here.  There  was  a  tightening  of  the  firm 
mouth  and  an  ominous  contraction  of  the  pupils  of 
the  eyes.  He  stirred  the  fire,  then  jammed  a  huge, 
knotted  stick  into  the  sheet-iron  stove.  It  seemed 
as  if  everybody  had  sheet-iron  stoves  in  this  country. 
The  log  caught  with  a  pleasant  roar  as  the  draught 
sent  flames  leaping  up  the  chimney.  But  Paul  made 
no  movement  to  go.  Then  he,  Gordon,  had  not  under 
stood  his  friend.  Maybe  the  menace  was  not  here, 
but  outside.  If  so,  he  must  contrive  to  keep  his  guests 
interested  here.  He  would  leave  the  lead  to  Paul. 
Paul  knew.  He  went  back  to  his  living-room  and 
returned,  bringing  two  heavy  buggy  robes. 

"  You  will  find  my  bachelor  way  of  living  very  prim 
itive,'"  he  said,  with  his  engaging  smile.  He  arranged 
the  robes  over  two  of  the  chairs  and  pushed  them  close 
up  to  the  stove.  "  I  have  n't  an  easy  chair  in  the  house 
—  prove  it  by  Paul,  here.  Have  n't  time  to  rock,  and 
can't  afford  to  run  the  risk  of  cultivating  slothful 
habits.  Take  these,  do,'"1  he  urged,  "  and  remove  your 
coats." 

"Thank  you  —  you  are  very  kind,"  said  Louise. 
"  No,  I  won't  take  off  my  jacket,"  a  spot  of  color  stain 
ing  her  cheek  when  she  thought  of  her  gay  kimono. 
Involuntarily,  she  felt  of  her  throat  to  make  sure  the 
muffler  had  not  blown  awry.  "  We  shall  be  going  soon, 
shan't  we,  Mr.  Langford  ?  If  Mr.  Gordon  is  in  any 
[  217  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

danger,  you  must  stay  with  him  and  let  us  go  alone. 
It  is  not  far." 

"  Surely,"  said  Mary,  with  a  big  sinking  of  the  heart, 
but  meaning  what  she  said. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Gordon,  decidedly.  "  It  "s  just 
his  womanish  way  of  bossing  me.  I  '11  rebel  some  day. 
Just  wait !  But  before  you  go,  I  '11  make  tea.  You 
must  have  gotten  chilled  through." 

He  would  keep  them  here  a  while  and  then  let  them 
go  —  with  Langford.  The  thought  made  him  feel 
cheap  and  cowardly  and  sneaking.  Far  rather  would 
he  step  out  boldly  and  take  his  chances.  But  if  there 
was  to  be  any  shooting,  it  must  be  where  Louise,  —  and 
Mary,  too  —  was  not.  He  believed  Paul,  in  his  zeal, 
had  exaggerated  evil  omens,  but  there  was  Louise  in 
his  bachelor  rooms  —  where  he  had  never  thought  to 
see  her ;  there  with  her  cheeks  flushed  with  the  prox 
imity  to  the  stove  —  his  stove  —  her  fair  hair  wind 
blown.  No  breath  of  evil  thing  must  assail  her  that 
night  —  that  night,  when  she  had  glorified  his  lonely 
habitation  —  even  though'he  himself  must  slink  into  a 
corner  like  a  cowardly  cur.  A  strange  elation  took 
possession  of  him.  She  was  here.  He  thought  of  last 
night  and  seemed  to  walk  on  air.  If  he  won  out, 
maybe  —  but,  fool  that  he  was  !  what  was  there  in  this 
rough  land  for  a  girl  like  —  Louise  ? 

"  Oh,  no,  that  will  be  too  much  trouble,"  gasped 
Louise,  in  some  alarm  and  thinking  of  Aunt  Helen. 
[218] 


An  Unconventional  Tea  Party 

"  Thanks,  old  man,  we  '11  stay,11  spoke  up  Langford, 
cheerfully.  "  He  makes  excellent  tea  —  really.  I  Ve 
tried  it  before.  You  will  never  regret  staying.1' 

Silently  he  watched  his  friend  in  the  inner  room 
bring  out  a  battered  tea-kettle,  fill  it  with  a  steady 
hand  and  put  it  on  the  stove  in  the  office,  coming  and 
going  carelessly,  seemingly  conscious  of  nothing  in  the 
world  but  the  comfort  of  his  unexpected  guests. 

True  to  her  sex,  Louise  was  curiously  interested  in 
the  housekeeping  arrangements  of  a  genuine  bachelor 
establishment.  Woman-like,  she  saw  many  things  in 
the  short  time  she  was  there  —  but  nothing  that  dimin 
ished  her  respect  for  Richard  Gordon.  The  bed  in  the 
inner  chamber  where  both  men  slept  was  disarranged 
but  clean.  Wearing  apparel  was  strewn  over  chairs 
and  tables.  There  was  a  litter  of  magazines  on  the 
floor.  She  laid  them  up  against  Langford ;  she  did 
not  think  Gordon  had  the  time  or  inclination  to  culti 
vate  the  magazine  habit.  She  did  not  know  to  whose 
weakness  to  ascribe  the  tobacco  pouch  and  brier-wood 
pipe  placed  invitingly  by  the  side  of  a  pair  of  gay, 
elaborately  bead-embroidered  moccasons,  cosily  stowed 
away  under  the  head  of  the  bed ;  but  she  was  rather 
inclined  to  lay  these,  too,  to  Langford's  charge.  The 
howling  tempest  outside  only  served  to  enhance  the 
cosiness  of  the  rumbling  fire  and  the  closely  drawn 
blinds. 

But  tea  was  never  served  in  those  bachelor  rooms 
[219] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

that  night  —  neither  that  night  nor  ever  again.  It 
was  a  little  dream  that  went  up  in  flame  with  the 
walls  that  harbored  it.  Who  first  became  conscious 
that  the  tang  of  smoke  was  gradually  filling  their  nos 
trils,  it  was  hard  to  tell.  They  were  not  far  behind 
each  other  in  that  consciousness.  It  was  Langford 
who  discovered  that  the  trouble  was  at  the  rear,  where 
the  wind  would  soon  have  the  whole  building  fanned 
into  flames.  Gordon  unlocked  the  door  quietly.  He 
said  nothing.  But  Paul,  springing  in  front  of  him, 
himself  threw  it  open.  It  was  no  new  dodge,  this  burn 
ing  a  man  out  to  shoot  him  as  one  would  drown  out 
a  gopher  for  the  killing.  He  need  not  have  been 
afraid.  The  alarm  had  spread.  The  street  in  front 
was  rapidly  filling.  One  would  hardly  have  dared  to 
shoot  —  then  —  if  one  had  meant  to.  And  he  did  not 
know.  He  only  knew  that  deviltry  had  been  in  the  air 
for  Gordon  that  night.  He  had  suspected  more  than 
he  had  overheard,  but  it  had  been  in  the  air. 

Gordon  saw  the  action  and  understood  it.  He 
never  forgot  it.  He  said  nothing,  but  gave  his  friend  an 
illuminating  smile  that  Langford  understood.  Neither 
ever  spoke  of  it,  neither  ever  forgot  it.  How  tightly 
can  quick  impulses  bind  —  forever. 

Outside,  they  encountered  the  Judge  in  search  of  his 
delinquent  charges. 

"I'm  sorry,  Dick,"  he  said.  "Dead  loss,  my  boy. 
This  beastly  wind  is  your  undoing." 


An  Unconventional  Tea  Party 

"I'm  not  worrying,  Judge,11  responded  Gordon, 
grimly.  "I  intend  for  some  one  else  to  do  that." 

"  Hellity  damn,  Dick,  hellity  damn  !  "  exploded  Jim 
Munson  in  his  ear.  The  words  came  whistling  through 
his  lips,  caught  and  whirled  backward  by  the  play 
of  the  storm.  The  cold  was  getting  bitter,  and  a 
fine,  cutting  snow  was  at  last  driving  before  the 
wind. 

Gordon,  with  a  set  face,  plunged  back  into  the  room 
—  already  fire-licked.  Langford  and  Munson  followed. 
There  sat  the  little  tea-service  staring  at  them  with 
dumb  pathos.  The  three  succeeded  in  rolling  the  safe 
with  all  its  precious  documents  arranged  within,  out 
into  the  street.  Nothing  else  mattered  much  —  to 
Gordon.  But  other  things  were  saved,  and  Jim  gal 
lantly  tossed  out  everything  he  could  lay  his  hands 
on  before  Gordon  ordered  everybody  out  for  good  and 
all.  It  was  no  longer  safe  to  be  within.  Gordon  was 
the  last  one  out.  He  carried  a  battered  little  tea 
kettle  in  his  hand.  He  looked  at  it  in  a  whimsical 
surprise  as  if  he  had  not  known  until  then  that  he  had 
it  in  his  hand.  Obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  he  held  it 
out  to  Louise. 

"Please  take  care  of — my  poor  little  dream,"  he 
whispered  with  a  strange,  intent  look. 

Before  she  could  comprehend  the  significance  or  give 
answer,  the  Judge  had  faced  about.  He  bore  the  girls 
back  to  the  hotel,  scolding  helplessly  all  the  way  as 
[221  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

they  scudded  with  the  wind.  But  Louise  held  the 
little  tin  kettle  firmly. 

Men  knew  of  Richard  Gordon  that  night  that  he  was 
a  marked  man.  The  secret  workings  of  a  secret  clan 
had  him  on  their  proscription  list.  Some  one  had 
at  last  found  this  unwearied  and  doggedly  persistent 
young  fellow  in  the  way.  In  the  way,  he  was  a  menace, 
a  danger.  He  must  be  removed  from  out  the  way.  He 
could  not  be  bought  from  it  —  he  should  be  warned 
from  it.  So  now  his  home  —  his  work  room  and  his 
rest  room,  the  first  by  many  hours  daily  the  more  in 
use,  with  all  its  furnishings  of  bachelor  plainness  and 
utility,  that  yet  had  held  a  curious  charm  for  some 
men,  friends  and  cronies  like  Langford  —  was  burning 
that  he  might  be  warned.  Could  any  one  say,  "  Jesse 
Black  has  done  this  thing "  ?  Would  he  not  bring 
down  proof  of  guilt  by  a  retaliation  struck  too  soon  ? 
It  would  seem  as  if  he  were  anticipating  an  unfavorable 
verdict.  So  men  reasoned.  And  even  then  they  did 
not  arise  to  stamp  out  the  evil  that  had  endured  and 
hugged  itself  and  spit  out  corruption  in  the  cattle 
country.  That  was  reserved  for  —  another. 

They  talked  of  a  match  thrown  down  at  the  court 
house  by  a  tramp,  likely,  —  when  it  was  past  midnight, 
when  the  fire  broke  out  with  the  wind  a  piercing 
gale,  and  when  no  vagrant  but  had  long  since  left 
such  cold  comfort  and  had  slept  these  many  weeks 
in  sunnier  climes.  Some  argued  that  the  windows  of 


An  Unconventional  Tea  Party 

the  court-room  might  have  been  left  open  and  the 
stove  blown  down  by  the  wind  tearing  through,  or 
the  stove  door  might  have  blown  open  and  remains  of 
the  fire  been  blown  out,  or  the  pipe  might  have  fallen 
down.  But  it  was  a  little  odd  that  the  same  people 
said  Dick  Gordon's  office  likely  caught  fire  from  flying 
sparks.  Dick's  office  was  two  blocks  to  westward  of 
the  court-house  and  it  would  have  been  a  brave  spark 
and  a  lively  one  that  could  have  made  headway 
against  that  northwester. 


CHAPTER   XX 

THE  ESCAPE 

THE  little  county  seat  awoke  in  the  morning  to 
a  strange  sight.     The  storm  had  not  abated. 
The  wind  was  still  blowing  at  blizzard  rate  off 
the  northwest  hills,  and  fine,  icy  snow  was  swirling  so 
thickly  through  the  cold  air  that  vision  was  obstructed. 
Buildings  were  distinguishable  only  as  shadows  showing 
faintly  through  a  heavy  white  veil.     The  thermometer 
had  gone  many  degrees  below  the  zero  mark.     It  was 
steadily  growing  colder.     The  older  inhabitants  said  it 
would  surely  break  the  record  the  coming  night. 

An  immense  fire  had  been  built  in  the  sitting-room. 
Thither  Mary  and  Louise  repaired.  Here  they  were 
joined  by  Dale,  Langford,  and  Gordon. 

"  You  should  be  out  at  the  ranch  looking  after  your 
poor  cattle,  Mr.  Langford,"  said  Mary,  smilingly.  She 
could  be  light-hearted  now,  —  since  a  little  secret  had 
been  whispered  to  her  last  night  at  a  tea  party  where  no 
tea  had  been  drunk.  Langford  had  gravitated  toward 
her  as  naturally  as  steel  to  a  magnet.  He  shrugged 
his  big  shoulders  and  laughed  a  little. 

"  The  Scribe  will  do  everything  that  can  be  done. 
Honest,  now,  did  you  think  this  trial  could  be  pulled 
off  without  me?" 


The  Escape 

"  But  there  can  be  no  trial  to-day." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Did  I  dream  the  court-house  burned  last  night  ?  " 

"  If  you  did,  we  are  all  dreamers  alike." 

"  Then  how  can  you  hold  court  ?  " 

"  We  have  gone  back  to  the  time  when  Church  and 
State  were  one  and  inseparable,  and  court  convenes  at 
ten  o'clock  sharp  in  the  meeting-house,"  he  said. 

Louise  was  looking  white  and  miserable. 

"  You  are  not  contemplating  running  away,  are 
you  ?  "  asked  Gordon.  "  This  is  unusual  weather  — 
really." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  pitiful  smile. 

"  I  should  like  to  be  strong  and  brave  and  enduring 
and  capable  —  like  Mary.  You  don't  believe  it,  do 
you  ?  It  "s  true,  though.  But  I  can't.  I  'm  weak  and 
homesick  and  cold.  I  ought  not  to  have  come.  I  am 
not  the  kind.  You  said  it,  too,  you  know.  I  am 
going  home  just  as  soon  as  this  court  is  over.  I 
mean  it." 

There  was  no  mistaking  that.  Gordon  bowed  his 
head.  His  face  was  white.  It  had  come  sooner  than 
he  had  thought. 

All  the  records  of  the  work  of  yesterday  had  been 
burned.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  begin  at  the 
beginning  again.  It  was  discouraging,  uninteresting. 
But  it  had  to  be  done.  Dale  refused  positively  to 
adjourn.  The  jurymen  were  all  here.  So  the  little 
15  [  225  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

frame  church  was  bargained  for.  If  the  fire-bugs  had 
thought  to  postpone  events  —  to  gain  time  —  by  last 
nights  work,  they  would  find  themselves  very  greatly 
mistaken.  The  church  was  long  and  narrow  like  a 
country  schoolhouse,  and  rather  roomy  considering  the 
size  of  the  town.  It  had  precise  windows  —  also  like  a 
country  schoolhouse,  —  four  on  the  west  side,  through 
which  the  fine  snow  was  drifting,  four  opposite.  The 
storm  kept  few  at  home  with  the  exception  of  the 
people  from  across  the  river.  There  were  enough  stay 
ing  in  the  town  to  fill  the  room  to  its  utmost  limits. 
Standing  room  was  at  a  premium.  The  entry  was 
crowded.  Men  not  able  to  get  in  ploughed  back 
through  the  cutting  wind  and  snow  only  to  return 
presently  to  see  if  the  situation  had  changed  any 
during  their  brief  absence.  So  all  the  work  of  yester 
day  was  gone  over  again. 

Mingled  with  the  howl  and  bluster  of  the  wind,  and 
the  swirl  and  swish  of  the  snow  drifting  outside  during 
the  small  hours  of  last  night,  sometimes  had  been  dis 
tinguishable  the  solemn  sound  of  heavy  steps  running 
—  likened  somewhat  to  the  tramp  of  troops  marching 
on  the  double-quick.  To  some  to  whom  this  sound 
was  borne  its  meaning  was  clear,  but  others  wondered, 
until  daylight  made  it  clear  to  all.  The  sorry  day 
predicted  for  the  cattle  had  come.  The  town  was 
full  of  cattle.  They  hugged  the  south  side  of  the 
buildings  —  standing  in  stolid  patience  with  drooping 
[226] 


The  Escape 

heads.  Never  a  structure  in  the  whole  town  —  house 
or  store  or  barn  or  saloon  —  but  was  wind-break  for 
some  forlorn  bunch  huddled  together,  their  faces  always 
turned  to  the  southeast,  for  the  wind  went  that  way.  It 
was  an  odd  sight.  It  was  also  a  pitiful  one.  Hundreds 
had  run  with  the  wind  from  the  higher  range  altitude, 
seeking  the  protection  of  the  bluffs.  The  river  only 
stopped  the  blind,  onward  impetus.  The  flat  where 
the  camps  had  been  might  have  been  a  close  corral, 
so  thickly  were  the  animals  crowded  together,  their 
faces  turned  uncompromisingly  with  the  wind. 

But  the  most  pathetic  part  of  the  situation  made 
itself  felt  later  in  the  day  when  the  crying  need  of  food 
for  this  vast  herd  began  to  be  a  serious  menace.  Star 
vation  stared  these  hundreds  of  cattle  in  the  face.  Men 
felt  this  grimly.  But  it  was  out  of  the  question  to 
attempt  to  drive  them  back  to  the  grass  lands  in  the 
teeth  of  the  storm.  Nothing  could  be  done  that  day  at 
least.  But  during  the  second  night  the  wind  fell  away, 
the  snow  ceased.  Morning  dawned  clear,  still,  and  sting- 
ingly  cold,  and  the  sun  came  up  with  a  goodly  following 
of  sun-dogs.  Then  such  a  sight  greeted  the  inhabitants 
of  the  little  town  as  perhaps  they  had  never  seen  before 
—  and  yet  they  had  seen  many  things  having  to  do 
with  cattle.  There  was  little  grass  in  the  town  for 
them,  but  every  little  dead  spear  that  had  lived  and 
died  in  the  protection  of  the  sidewalk  or  in  out-of-the- 
way  corners  had  been  ravenously  nipped.  Where  snow 
[227] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

had  drifted  over  a  likely  place,  it  had  been  pawed  aside. 
Where  there  had  been  some  grass,  south  of  town  and 
east,  the  ground  was  as  naked  now  as  though  it  had 
been  peeled.  Every  bit  of  straw  had  been  eaten  from 
manure  piles,  so  that  only  pawed-over  mounds  of  pulver 
ized  dust  remained.  Garbage  heaps  looked  as  if  there 
had  been  a  general  Spring  cleaning-up.  And  there  was 
nothing  more  now.  Every  heap  of  refuse,  every  grass 
plot  had  been  ransacked  —  there  was  nothing  left  for 
those  hundreds  of  starving  brutes.  Many  jurors,  held 
in  waiting,  begged  permission  to  leave,  to  drive  their 
cattle  home.  Whenever  practicable,  these  requests  were 
granted.  The  aggregate  loss  to  the  county  would  be 
enormous  if  the  cattle  were  allowed  to  remain  here 
many  more  days.  Individual  loss  would  go  hard  with 
many  of  the  small  owners.  The  cattle  stupidly  made 
no  move  to  return  to  the  grass  lands  of  their  own 
volition. 

Later  in  the  day,  the  numbers  were  somewhat  thinned, 
but  things  were  happening  in  the  little  church  room 
that  made  men  forget  —  so  concentrated  was  the  inter 
est  within  those  four  walls.  So  close  was  the  pack  of 
people  that  the  fire  roaring  in  the  big  stove  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  room  was  allowed  to  sink  in  smouldering 
quiet.  The  heavy  air  had  been  unbearable  else.  The 
snow  that  had  been  brought  in  on  tramping  feet  lay  in 
little  melted  pools  on  the  rough  flooring.  Men  forgot 
to  eat  peanuts  and  women  forgot  to  chew  their  gum  — 
[228] 


The  Escape 

except  one  or  two  extremely  nervous  ones  whose  jaws 
moved  the  faster  under  the  stimulus  of  hysteria.  Jesse 
Black  was  telling  his  story. 

"  Along  toward  the  first  of  last  July,  I  took  a  hike 
out  into  the  Indian  country  to  buy  a  few  head  o'  cattle. 
I  trade  considerable  with  the  half-breeds  around  Crow 
Creek  and  Lower  Brule.  They  're  always  for  sellin'  and 
if  it  comes  to  a  show-down  never  haggle  much  about 
the  lucre  —  it  all  goes  for  snake-juice  anyway.  Well,  I 
landed  at  John  Yellow  Wolf's  shanty  along  about  noon 
and  found  there  was  others  ahead  o'  me.  Yellow  Wolf 
always  was  a  popular  cuss.  There  was  Charlie  Night- 
bird,  Pete  Monroe,  Jesse  Big  Cloud,  and  two  or  three 
others  whose  mugs  I  did  not  happen  to  be  onto.  After 
our  feed,  we  all  strolled  out  to  the  corral.  Yellow 
Wolf  said  he  had  bought  a  likely  little  bunch  from 
some  English  feller  who  was  skipping  the  country  — 
starved  out  and  homesick  —  and  had  n't  put  'em  on  the 
range  yet.  He  said  J  R  was  the  English  feller's  brand. 
I  didn't  suspicion  no  underhand  dealin's.  Yellow 
Wolf's  always  treated  me  white  before,  so  I  bargained 
for  this  here  chap  and  three  or  four  others  and  then 
pulled  out  for  home  driving  the  bunch.  They  fed  at 
home  for  a  spell  and  then  I  decided  to  put  'em  on  the 
range.  On  the  way  I  fell  in  with  Billy  Brown  here. 
He  was  dead  set  on  havin'  the  lot  to  fill  in  the  chinks 
of  the  two  carloads  he  was  shippin',  so  I  up  and  lets 
him  have  'em.  I  showed  him  this  here  bill-o'-sale  from 
[229] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Yellow  Wolf  and  made  him  out  one  from  me,  and  that 
was  all  there  was  to  it.  He  rode  on  to  Velpen,  and  I 
turned  on  my  trail.11 

It  was  a  straight  story,  and  apparently  damaging  for 
the  prosecution.  It  corroborated  the  attestations  of 
other  witnesses  —  many  others.  It  had  a  plausible  ring 
to  it.  Two  bills  of  sale  radiated  atmospheric  legality. 
If  there  had  been  dirty  work,  it  must  have  originated 
with  that  renegade  half-breed,  Yellow  Wolf.  And 
Yellow  Wolf  was  dead.  He  had  died  while  serving  a 
term  in  the  penitentiary  for  cattle-rustling.  Uncle 
Sam  himself  had  set  the  seal  upon  him  —  and  now  he 
was  dead.  This  insinuated  charge  he  could  not  answer. 
The  finality  of  it  seemed  to  set  its  stamp  upon  the  peo 
ple  gathered  there  —  upon  the  twelve  good  men  and 
true,  as  well  as  upon  others.  Yellow  Wolf  was  dead. 
George  Williston  was  dead.  Their  secrets  had  died 
with  them.  An  inscrutable  fate  had  lowered  the  veil. 
Who  could  pierce  it  ?  One  might  believe,  but  who 
could  know?  And  the  law  required  knowledge. 

"We  will  call  Charlie  Nightbird,"  said  Small, 
complacently. 

There  was  a  little  waiting  silence  —  a  breathless,  pal 
pitating  silence. 

"  Is  Charlie  Nightbird  present  ?  "  asked  Small,  casting 

rather    anxious    eyes    over    the    packed,    intent    faces. 

Charlie  Nightbird  was  not  present.     At  least  he  made 

no  sign  of  coming  forward.     The  face  of  the  young 

[230] 


The  Escape 

counsel  for  the  State  was  immobile  during  the  brief 
time  they  waited  for  Charlie  Nightbird  —  whose  dark, 
frozen  face  was  at  that  moment  turned  toward  the 
cold,  sparkling  sky,  and  who  would  never  come,  not 
if  they  waited  for  him  till  the  last  dread  trump  of 
the  last  dread  day. 

There  was  some  mistake.  Counsel  had  been  mis 
informed.  Nightbird  was  an  important  witness.  He 
had  been  reported  present.  Never  mind.  He  was 
probably  unavoidably  detained  by  the  storm.  They 
would  call  Jesse  Big  Cloud  and  others  to  corroborate 
the  defendant's  statements  —  which  they  did,  and  the 
story  was  sustained  in  all  its  parts,  major  and  minor. 
Then  the  defence  rested. 

Richard  Gordon  arose  from  his  chair.  His  face  was 
white.  His  lean  jaws  were  set.  His  eyes  were  steel. 
He  was  anything  but  a  lover  now,  this  man  Gordon. 
Yet  the  slim  little  court  reporter  with  dark  circles  of 
homesickness  under  her  eyes  had  never  loved  him  half 
so  well  as  at  this  moment.  His  voice  was  clear  and 
deliberate. 

"  Your  honor,  I  ask  permission  of  the  Court  to  call  a 
witness  in  direct  testimony.  I  assure  your  honor  that 
the  State  had  used  all  efforts  in  its  power  to  obtain  the 
presence  of  this  witness  before  resting  its  case,  but  had 
failed  and  believed  at  the  time  that  he  could  not  be 
produced.  The  witness  is  now  here  and  I  consider  his 
testimony  of  the  utmost  importance  in  this  case.1' 
[  231  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Counsel  for  the  defendant  objected  strenuously,  but 
the  Court  granted  the  petition.  He  wanted  to  hear 
everything  that  might  throw  some  light  on  the  dark 
places  in  the  evidence. 

"  I  call  Mr.  George  Williston,"  said  Gordon. 

Had  the  strain  crazed  him  ?  Louise  covered  her 
eyes  with  her  hands.  Men  sat  as  if  dazed.  And  thus, 
the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  —  stupefied  eyes  —  Williston 
of  the  ravaged  Lazy  S,  thin  and  worn  but  calm,  natural 
and  scholarly-looking  as  of  old  —  walked  from  the 
little  ante-room  at  the  side  into  the  light  and  knowl 
edge  of  men  once  more  and  raised  his  hand  for  the 
oath.  Not  until  this  was  taken  and  he  had  sat  quietly 
down  in  the  witness  chair  did  the  tension  snap.  Even 
then  men  found  it  difficult  to  focus  their  attention  on 
the  enormous  difference  this  new  witness  must  make  in 
the  case  that  a  few  moments  before  had  seemed  settled. 

Mary  sat  with  shining  eyes  in  the  front  row  of 
wooden  chairs.  It  was  no  wonder  she  had  laughed  and 
been  so  gay  all  the  dreary  yesterday  and  all  the  worse 
to-day.  Louise  shot  her  a  look  of  pure  gladness. 

Small's  face  was  ludicrous  in  its  drop-jawed  astonish 
ment.  The  little  lawyer's  face  was  a  study.  A  look 
of  defiance  had  crept  into  the  defendant's  countenance. 

The  preliminary  questions  were  asked  and  answered. 

"  Mr.  Williston,  you  may  state  where  you  were  and 
what  you  saw  on  the  fourteenth  day  of  July  last." 
Williston,  the  unfortunate  gentleman   and  scholar, 


The  Escape 

the  vanquished  cowman,  for  a  brief  while  the  most 
important  man  in  the  cow  country,  perhaps,  was  about 
to  uncover  to  men^s  understanding  the  dark  secret 
hitherto  obscured  by  a  cloud  of  supposition  and  hear 
say.  He  told  the  story  of  his  visit  to  the  island,  and 
he  told  it  well.  It  was  enough.  Gordon  asked  no 
further  questions  regarding  that  event. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Williston,  you  may  tell  what  hap 
pened  to  you  on  the  night  of  the  thirtieth  of  last 
August." 

Williston  began  to  tell  the  story  of  the  night  attack 
upon  the  Lazy  S,  when  the  galvanic  Small  jumped  to 
his  feet.  The  little  lawyer  touched  him  with  a  light 
hand. 

"  Your  honor,"  he  said,  smoothly,  "  I  object  to 
that  as  incompetent,  irrelevant,  and  immaterial,  and  not 
binding  on  the  defendant." 

"  Your  honor,"  interrupted  Gordon,  with  great  calm 
ness,  "  we  intend  to  show  you  before  we  get  through 
that  this  testimony  is  competent,  and  that  it  is  binding 
upon  the  defendant." 

"  Was  the  defendant  there  ?  " 

"  The  defendant  was  there." 

The  objection  was  overruled. 

So  Williston  told  briefly  but  to  the  point  the  story 
of  the  night  attack  upon  his  home,  of  the  defence  by 
himself  and  his  daughter,  and  of  the  burning  of  his 
house  and  sheds.     Then  he  proceeded : 
[233] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"Suddenly,  some  one  caught  me  from  behind,  my 
arms  were  pinioned  to  my  sides,  something  was  clapped 
over  my  mouth.  I  was  flung  over  a  horse  and  strapped 
to  the  saddle  all  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it, 
and  was  borne  away  in  company  with  the  man  who 
had  overpowered  me." 

He  paused  a  moment  in  his  recital.  Faces  strained 
with  expectancy  devoured  him — his  every  look  and 
word  and  action.  Mary  was  very  pale,  carried  thus 
back  to  the  dread  realities  of  that  night  in  August, 
and  shuddered,  remembering  that  ghastly  galloping. 
Langford  could  scarce  restrain  himself.  He  wanted  to 
rip  out  a  blood-curdling  Sioux  war-whoop  on  the  spot. 

"  Who  was  this  man,  Mr.  Williston  ? "  asked 
Gordon. 

"  Jesse  Black.11 

Small  was  on  his  feet  again,  gesticulating  wildly. 

"  I  object !  This  is  all  a  fabrication,  put  in  here 
to  prejudice  the  minds  of  the  jury  against  this  defend 
ant.  It  is  a  pack  of  lies,  and  I  move  that  it  be  stricken 
from  the  record." 

The  little  lawyer  bowed  his  head  to  the  storm  and 
shrugged  up  his  shoulders.  Perhaps  he  wished  that  he, 
or  his  associates  —  one  of  the  unholy  alliance  at  least 
—  was  where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  on  the 
far-away  islands  of  the  deep  seas,  possibly,  or  home  on 
the  farm.  But  his  expression  told  nothing. 

"  Gentlemen  !  gentlemen  ! "  expostulated  Judge  Dale. 


The  Escape 

"  Gentlemen !  I  insist.  This  is  all  out  of  order.11 
Only  one  gentleman  was  out  of  order,  but  that  was  the 
Judge's  way.  Gordon  had  remained  provokingly  cool 
under  the  tirade. 

Again  the  soft  touch.  Small  fell  into  his  chair. 
He  poured  himself  a  glass  of  water  from  the  pitcher 
standing  on  the  attorneys1  table  and  drank  a  little  of 
it  nervously. 

"I  move,11  said  the  little  lawyer,  "that  all  this 
touching  upon  the  personal  matter  of  this  witness  and 
having  to  do  with  his  private  quarrels  be  stricken  out 
of  the  evidence  as  not  bearing  on  the  case  in  question.11 

All  in  vain.  The  Judge  ruled  that  it  did  bear  on 
the  case,  and  Williston  picked  up  the  thread  of  his 
story. 

"  We  rode  and  rode  hard  —  it  must  have  been  hours  ; 
daylight  was  coming  before  we  stopped.  Our  horses 
were  spent.  I  had  no  idea  where  we  were.  From  the 
formation  of  the  land,  I  judged  we  were  not  far  from 
the  river.  We  were  surrounded  by  bluffs.  I  can  hardly 
make  you  see  how  cleverly  this  little  retreat  had  been 
planned.  It  was  in  a  valley  —  one  of  a  hundred  similar 
in  all  essential  respects.  The  gulch  at  the  bottom  of 
the  valley  was  heavily  wooded  with  scrub-oak,  cotton- 
wood,  woodbine,  and  plum-trees,  and  this  tangle  of  foli 
age  extended  for  some  distance  up  the  sides  of  the  hills. 
In  the  midst  of  this  underbrush  —  a  most  excellent 
screen  —  was  a  tiny  cabin.  In  this  tiny  cabin  I  have 
[235] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

lived,  a  closely  watched  prisoner,  from  that  day  until 
I  escaped.1' 

The  defendant  stirred  a  little  uneasily.  Was  he 
thinking  of  Nightbird  with  the  dark,  frozen  face  —  who 
had  not  answered  to  his  call  ? 

"  Black  left  me  soon  after.  He  did  not  unbind  me, 
rather  bound  me  the  tighter.  There  was  no  one  then 
to  watch  me.  He  deigned  to  inform  me  that  he  had 
found  it  rather  inconvenient  to  kill  me  after  the  relief 
party  rode  up,  as  then  there  was  no  absolute  surety 
of  his  making  a  clean  get-away,  and  being  caught  in 
the  act  would  be  bound  to  be  unpleasant,  very  unpleas 
ant  just  then,  so  he  had  altered  his  plans  a  little  —  for 
the  present.  He  gave  me  no  hint  either  that  time,  nor. 
either  of  the  two  times  I  saw  him  subsequently,  as  to 
what  was  to  be  his  ultimate  disposal  of  me.  I  could 
only  suppose  that  after  this  trial  was  well  over  in  his 
favor,  and  fear  of  indictment  for  arson  and  murder  had 
blown  over  —  if  blow  over  it  did, — he  would  then 
quietly  put  an  end  to  me.  Dead  men  tell  no  tales. 
The  shanty  in  the  gulch  did  not  seem  to  be  much 
of  a  rendezvous  for  secret  meetings.  I  led  a  lonely  ex 
istence.  My  jailers  were  mostly  half-breeds  —  usually 
Charlie  Nightbird.  Two  or  three  times  Jake  Sander 
son  was  my  guard." 

Then  from  the  doorway  came  a  loud,  clear,  resonant 
voice,  a  joyful  voice,  a  voice  whose  tones  fairly  oozed 
rapture. 

[236] 


The  Escape 

"  Hellity  damn  !  The  Three  Bars  's  a  gettin1  busy, 
Mouse-hair ! " 

Judge  Dale  started.  He  glared  angrily  in  that 
direction. 

"Remove  that  man  !  "  he  ordered,  curtly.  He  liked 
Jim,  but  he  could  not  brook  this  crying  contempt  of 
court.  Jim  was  removed.  He  went  quietly,  but  shak 
ing  his  head  reproachfully. 

"  I  never  would  V  thought  it  o1  the  Jedge," 
he  murmured,  disconsolately.  "  I  never  would  V 
thought  it.11 

There  was  a  movement  in  the  back  of  the  room.  A 
man  was  making  his  way  out,  slipping  along,  cat 
like,  trying  to  evade  attention.  Quietly  Gordon  mo 
tioned  to  the  sheriff  and  slipped  a  paper  into  his 
hand. 

"Look  sharp,"  he  whispered,  his  steady  eyes  on  the 
shifty  ones  of  the  sheriff.  "  If  you  let  him  get  away, 
just  remember  the  handwriting  on  the  wall.  It's  our 
turn  now." 

Presently,  there  was  a  slight  scuffle  by  the  door  and 
two  men  quietly  left  the  improvised  court-room. 

"  Day  before  yesterday,  in  the  afternoon,"  continued 
Williston,  "I  managed  to  knock  Nightbird  down  at 
the  threshold  as  he  was  about  to  enter.  I  had  secretly 
worked  a  cross-beam  from  the  low,  unfinished  ceiling. 
There  was  nothing  else  in  the  room  I  might  use  for 
a  weapon.  They  were  very  careful.  I  think  I  killed 
[  237  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

him,  your  honor  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury.  I  am  not 
sorry.  There  was  no  other  way.  But  I  would  rather 
it  had  been  the  maker,  not  the  tool.  By  the  time 
I  had  made  my  way  back  to  the  Lazy  S,  I  was  too 
exhausted  to  go  further ;  so  I  crawled  over  to  my 
neighbors,  the  Whites,  and  Mother  White  made  me 
a  shake-down.  I  lay  there,  nearly  dead,  until  this 
morning." 

He  leaned  back  wearily. 

Black  stood  up.  He  was  not  lank  nor  lazy  now,  nor 
shuffling.  His  body  was  drawn  to  its  full  height.  In 
the  instant  before  the  spring,  Mary,  who  was  sitting 
close  to  the  attorneys'*  table,  met  his  glance  squarely. 
She  read  there  what  he  was  about  to  do.  Only  a 
moment  their  eyes  held  each  other's,  but  it  was  time 
enough  for  a  swift  message  of  understanding,  of  utter 
dislike,  and  of  a  determined  will  to  defeat  the  man's 
purpose,  to  pass  from  the  accusing  brown  eyes  to  the 
cruel  ones  of  the  defendant. 

Quick  as  a  flash,  Black  seized  the  chair  upon  which 
he  had  been  sitting,  sprang  clear  of  the  table  and  his 
lawyers,  and  landed  close  to  Mary's  side.  With  his 
chair  as  a  weapon,  he  meant  to  force  his  way  to  the 
nearest  window.  Mary's  eyes  dilated.  Unhesitatingly 
she  seized  the  half-emptied  glass  on  the  table  and 
dashed  the  contents  of  it  full  into  the  prisoner's  face. 
Blinded,  he  halted  a  moment  in  his  mad  rush.  Mary's 
quick  manoeuvre  made  Langford's  opportunity.  He 
[238] 


The  Escape 

grappled  with  Black.  The  crowd  went  mad  with 
excitement. 

The  prisoner  still  retained  his  chair.  When  Lang- 
ford  grappled  with  him,  he  attempted  to  bring  it  down 
upon  the  fair  head  of  his  antagonist.  Mary  gasped 
with  dread,  but  Langford  grasped  the  chair  with  one 
muscular  hand,  wrested  it  from  the  desperado's  hold, 
and  threw  it  to  the  floor.  The  two  men  locked  in  a 
close  embrace.  Langford's  great  strength  was  more 
than  sufficient  to  hold  the  outlaw  until  the  dazed  offi 
cers  could  do  their  duty  —  had  he  been  let  alone ;  but 
two  men,  who  had  been  standing  near  the  door  when 
the  prisoner  made  his  unexpected  leap  for  liberty,  had 
succeeded  in  worming  their  way  through  the  excited 
crowd,  and  now  suddenly  threw  themselves  upon  the 
ranchman,  dragging  him  back. 

"  Stand  aside  or  1 11  shoot !  " 

It  was  a  girl's  voice,  clear  and  firm.  Mary  had  been 
the  first  to  realize  that  Black's  friends,  not  Langford's, 
had  joined  in  the  struggle.  She  snatched  her  revolver 
from  her  cowboy  belt  —  she  had  not  been  without 
either  since  the  Lazy  S  was  burned  —  and  cried  out 
her  challenge.  Glancing  quickly  from  the  gleaming 
barrel  to  the  determined  face  of  the  young  girl,  the 
men  let  go  their  hold  of  Langford  and  fell  back 
precipitately. 

Instantly,  Langford  sprang  forward,  but  Black  had 
made  good  use  of  his  moment  of  grace.  Swinging  his 
[239] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

arms  to  the  right  and  left,  he  had  beaten  his  way 
to  the  window,  when  Langford  again  seized  him, 
but  he  had  the  advantage  this  time  and  he  tore 
himself  loose,  throwing  Langford  violently  against 
the  window-casing.  With  his  bare,  clinched  fist,  he 
shivered  the  glass  and  leaped  out  —  into  the  arms  of 
Jim  Munson. 

The  officers  made  gallant  plunges  through  the  stam 
peded  crowd  in  their  efforts  to  get  clear  of  the  room  to 
follow  the  fugitive.  But  certain  men  managed  to  keep 
themselves  clumsily,  but  with  marvellous  adroitness 
nevertheless,  between  the  deputies  and  the  doors  and 
windows ;  so  that  several  moments  elapsed  before  the 
outside  was  finally  gained. 

Meanwhile,  Jim  struggled  heroically  with  the  outlaw. 
Black  was  far  superior  to  him  in  weight  and  strength  of 
limb,  but  Jim  was  quick  and  tough  and  daring.  Ex 
pelled  from  the  court-room,  he  had  been  watching 
through  the  window.  He  had  seen  Mary's  quick  action 
and  his  Boss's  splendid  attack.  He  had  also  seen  the 
little  "  gun  play  "  and  his  eyes  glowed  in  admiration  of 
"Williston's  little  girl,"  though  his  generous  heart 
ached  for  love  of  the  woman  who  was  not  for  him. 
He  saw  Black  coming.  He  was  ready  for  him.  He 
grappled  with  him  at  once.  If  the  Boss  or  the  officers 
would  only  come  now  ! 

When  they  did  come,  they  found  Jim  stretched  at 
length  on  the  frozen  ground.     He  sat  up  slowly. 
[240] 


The  Escape 

tt  You  're  too  late,  boys,"  he  said ;  "  the  hoss  thief 
was  too  much  for  me.  He 's  gone." 

It  was  true.  The  little  street  stretched  before  them 
still  —  deserted.  Early  twilight  was  coming  on.  The 
biting  cold  struck  them  broadside.  The  deputies 
scattered  in  vain  pursuit. 


16 


[241] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  MOVING  SHADOW 

"  T  'D  rather  not   talk  about   it  to-night.     I  'm    not 

I     equal  to  it.     It 's  too  —  too  —  it  "s  devilish,  Paul. 

I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  grasp  it.    I  can't  think 

about  it  with  any  coherence.     I  was  so  sure  —  so  sure.1' 

Gordon  was  staring  moodily  out  of  the  window,  one 
arm  hanging  idly  over  the  back  of  his  chair.  He  had 
taken  up  office  room  in  an  empty  shop  building  across 
the  street  from  the  hotel. 

"  It 's  so  devilish,  it 's  weird,"  agreed  the  ranchman. 
"  But  your  part  was  great.  You  vanquished  Jesse 
Black.  That  is  more  than  we  hoped  for  a  week  ago. 
Is  it  your  fault  or  mine  that  those  fool  deputies  acted 
like  flies  in  tangle-foot  and  went  spraddle-fingered 
when  something  was  expected  of  them  ?  We  have 
nothing  to  do  with  a  little  thing  like  a  broken  window- 
pane." 

There  was  an  ugly  cut  on  his  forehead  caused  by  his 
violent  contact  with  the  sharp  edge  of  the  window- 
casing.  He  was  pale,  but  he  had  lost  none  of  the  old 
faith  in  himself  or  in  his  power  to  dominate  affairs  in 
the  cattle-country.  Defeat  was  intolerable  to  him. 


The  Moving  Shadow 

He  refused  to  bow  his  head  to  it.  To-day's  check  only 
made  him  the  more  determined,  if  that  were  possible,  to 
free  the  land  of  its  shame. 

"I'll  pull  myself  together  again,  never  fear,"  said 
Gordon.  "  Just  give  me  to-night.  You  see  that 's  not 
all.  I  've  something  else  to  think  about,  too,  now  that 
I  have  time.  It  takes  a  fellow's  nerve  away  to  have 
everything  that  is  worth  while  drop  out  at  once.  But 
I  Ve  rallied  before.  I  know  I  'm  beastly  selfish  not  to 
talk  to  you  to-night,  but  — " 

"Dick,"  interrupted  Langford,  bluntly,  "did  she 
turn  you  down?" 

"I  never  asked  her.  She  is  going  back  —  home 
—  next  week." 

"  If  you  let  her." 

"  You  don't  quite  understand,  Paul,"  said  Gordon, 
a  little  wearily.  "  She  said  she  could  never  live  in  this 
country — never.  She  would  die  here.  Could  I  ask 
her  after  that  ?  Could  I  ask  her  anyway,  and  be  a 
man?  I  know.  She  would  just  pine  away." 

"  Girls  don't  pine  —  only  in  imagination.  They  are 
tougher  than  you  give  them  credit  for." 

"  But  somehow,  Mary  seems  different,"  said  Gordon, 
thoughtfully.  He  surprised  a  flush  in  his  friend's 
cheek.  "You  deserve  her,  old  man,  you'll  be  very 
happy.  She  is  the  right  kind.  I  congratulate  you  with 
all  my  heart." 

An  odd  lump  came  into  Langford's  throat.  Despite 
[243] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Gordon's  vigorous  and  healthful  manhood,  there  seemed 
always  a  certain  pathos  of  life  surrounding  him. 

"  I  have  n't  asked,  either,"  confessed  Paul.  "  But 
you  have  made  it  possible  for  me  to  do  so  —  to-night 
—  to-morrow  —  whenever  I  can  find  a  chance.  Take 
my  advice,  old  man,  don't  let  your  girl  go.  You'll 
find  she  is  the  kind  after  all.  You  don't  know  her 
yet." 

Paul  left  the  room,  and  Gordon  paced  the  narrow 
confines  of  his  shabby  office  —  back  and  forth  —  many 
times.  Then  he  threw  himself  once  more  into  his  chair. 
The  hours  were  long.  He  had  all  night  to  think 
about  things.  When  morning  came,  all  his  weakness 
would  be  over.  No  one  should  ever  again  see  him  so 
unmanned  as  Paul  had  seen  him  to-night.  And  when 
Louise  should  go  —  his  arms  fell  nervelessly  to  the  table. 
He  remained  thus  a  moment,  his  eyes  fixed  and  unsee 
ing,  and  then  his  head  dropped  heavily  upon  his  arms. 

Alone  in  the  night,  Louise  awoke.  She  found  it 
impossible  to  fall  asleep  again.  She  was  nervous.  It 
must  be  something  in  the  atmosphere.  She  tossed  and 
tossed  and  flounced  and  flounced.  She  counted  up  to 
thousands.  She  made  her  mind  a  blank  so  often  that 
she  flew  to  thinking  to  escape  the  emptiness  of  it. 
Still  her  eyes  were  wide  and  her  mind  fairly  a-quiver 
with  activity.  She  slipped  out  of  bed.  She  would 
tire  herself  into  sleep.  She  even  dressed.  She  would 
show  herself.  If  she  must  be  a  midnight  prowler,  she 
[244] 


The  Moving  Shadow 

would  wear  the  garments  people  affect  when  they  have 
their  thoughts  and  energies  fixed  on  matters  mundane. 
Drawing  the  oil  stove  close  to  the  window  fronting  the 
street,  she  sank  into  a  chair,  drew  a  heavy  shawl  over 
her  shoulders,  put  her  feet  on  the  tiny  fender,  and  pre 
pared  to  fatigue  herself  into  oblivion. 

A  light  shone  from  the  window  across  the  way.  He 
was  still  at  work,  then.  He  ought  not  to  sit  up  so  late. 
No  wonder  he  was  looking  so  worn  out  lately.  He 
ought  to  have  some  one  to  look  after  him.  He  never 
thought  of  himself.  He  never  had  time.  She  would 
talk  to  him  about  keeping  such  late  hours  —  if  she 
were  not  going  back  to  God's  country  next  week. 
Only  next  week  !  It  was  too  good  to  be  true,  —  and  yet 
she  sighed.  But  there  was  no  other  way.  She  ought 
never  to  have  come.  She  was  not  big  enough.  He, 
too,  had  told  her  she  was  not  the  kind.  Doubtless, 
he  knew.  And  she  didn't  belong  to  anybody  here. 
She  was  glad  she  was  going  back  to  where  she  belonged 
to  somebody.  She  would  never  go  away  again. 

Was  that  Gordon  passing  back  and  forth  in  front  of 
the  window  ?  Something  must  be  troubling  him.  Was 
it  because  Jesse  Black  had  escaped  ?  But  what  a  glori 
ous  vindication  of  his  belief  in  the  man's  guilt  had 
that  afternoon  been  given !  Nothing  lacked  there. 
Why  should  he  be  sorry  ?  Sometimes,  she  had  thought 
he  might  care,  —  that  day  crossing  the  river  for  in 
stance  ;  but  he  was  so  reserved  —  he  never  said  —  and 
[245] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

it  was  much,  much  better  that  he  did  not  care,  now 
that  she  was  going  away  and  would  never  come  back. 
There  was  nothing  in  all  the  world  that  could  make 
her  come  back  to  this  big,  bleak,  lonesome  land  where 
she  belonged  to  nobody.  But  she  was  sorry  for  him. 
He  looked  sad  and  lonely.  He  did  n't  belong  to  any 
body  here,  either,  yet  he  was  n't  going  to  run  away  as 
she  was.  Well,  but  he  was  a  man,  and  men  were 
different. 

And  now  she  noticed  that  his  head  had  sunk  down 
onto  his  arms.  How  still  he  sat !  The  minutes  passed 
away.  Still  he  sat  motionless,  his  face  buried. 

It  was  dark.  The  yellow  gleam  streaming  out  of 
the  window  only  served  to  make  the  surrounding  dark 
ness  denser.  The  lamp  on  the  table  cast  a  pale  circle 
immediately  in  front  of  the  office.  There  was  no  other 
flicker  of  light  on  the  street.  Into  this  circle  there 
moved  a  shadow.  It  retreated,  —  advanced  again,  — 
glided  back  into  obscurity.  Was  it  something  alive, 
or  did  the  moving  of  the  lamp  cause  the  shadows  to 
thus  skip  about  ?  But  the  lamp  had  not  been  moved. 
It  burned  steadily  in  the  same  position.  The  relaxed 
form  of  the  unconscious  man  was  still  bent  over  the 
table.  Nothing  had  changed  within.  Probably  some 
dog  locked  out  for  the  night  had  trotted  within  the 
radius  of  light.  Maybe  a  cotton-tail  had  hopped  into 
the  light  for  a  second.  Louise  did  not  know  whether 
rabbits  ever  came  into  the  town,  but  it  was  likely  they 
[  246  ] 


The  Moving  Shadow 

did.  It  might  have  been  one  of  the  strayed  cattle 
wandering  about  in  search  of  food.  That  was  the  most 
probable  supposition  of  all.  Of  course  it  might  have 
been  only  her  imagination.  The  little  pinch  of  fright 
engendered  of  the  moving  shadow  and  the  eerie  hour 
passed  away.  Her  eyes  grew  pensive  again.  How  still 
it  was !  Had  Gordon  fallen  asleep  ?  He  lay  so 
quietly.  Had  he  grieved  himself  into  slumber  as  a 
girl  would  do  ?  No  —  men  were  not  like  that. 

Ah !  There  was  the  moving  shadow  again !  She 
caught  her  breath  quickly.  Then  her  eyes  grew  wide 
and  fixed  with  terror.  This  time  the  shadow  did  not 
slink  away  again.  It  came  near  the  window,  crouching. 
Suddenly,  it  stood  up  straight.  Merciful  Father! 
Why  is  it  that  a  human  being,  a  creature  of  reason  and 
judgment,  prowling  about  at  unnatural  hours,  inspires 
ten-fold  more  terror  to  his  kind  than  does  a  brute 
in  like  circumstances  of  time  and  place  ?  Louise  tried 
to  scream  aloud.  Her  throat  was  parched.  A  sudden 
paralysis  held  her  speechless.  It  was  like  a  nightmare. 
She  writhed  and  fought  desperately  to  shake  herself 
free  of  this  dumb  horror.  The  cold  damp  came  out 
on  her  forehead.  Afterward  she  remembered  that  she 
knew  the  man  and  that  it  was  this  knowledge  that 
had  caused  her  nightmare  of  horror  to  be  so  unspeak 
ably  dreadful.  Now  she  was  conscious  only  of  the 
awfulness  of  not  being  able  to  cry  out.  If  she  could 
only  awaken  Mary  !  The  man  lifted  his  arm.  He  had 
[247] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

something  in  his  hand.     Its  terrible  import  broke  the 
spell  of  her  speechlessness. 

"Mary!  Mary!1' 

She  thought  she  shrieked.  In  reality,  she  gasped 
out  a  broken  whisper ;  but  it  thrilled  so  with  terror 
and  pleading  that  Mary  was  awakened  on  the  instant. 
She  sprang  out  of  bed.  As  her  feet  touched  the  floor, 
a  pistol  shot  rang  out,  close  by.  She  had  been  trained 
to  quick  action,  and  superb  health  left  no  room  for 
cobwebs  to  linger  in  the  brain  when  she  was  suddenly 
aroused.  She  had  no  need  for  explanations.  The  shot 
was  enough.  If  more  was  needed,  there  was  the  lighted 
window  across  the  way  and  here  was  Louise  crouched 
before  their  own.  Swiftly  and  silently,  she  seized 
her  revolver  from  the  bureau,  glided  to  the  window, 
and  fired  three  times  in  rapid  succession,  the  reports 
mingling  with  the  sound  of  shattered  glass. 

"  I  think  I  hit  him  the  second  time,  Louise,"  she 
said,  with  a  dull  calm.  "I  can't  be  sure." 

She  lighted  a  lamp  and  began  to  dress  mechanically. 
Louise  stayed  not  to  answer.  In  the  hall,  she  encoun 
tered  Paul  Langford,  just  as  another  shot  rang  out. 

"  Go  back,  Miss  Dale,"  he  cried,  hurriedly  but  per 
emptorily.  "You  mustn't  come.  I  am  afraid  there 
has  been  foul  play." 

She  looked  at  him.     It  hurt,  that  look. 

"  He  is  dead,"  she  whispered,  "  I  am  going  to  him," 
and  glided  away  from  his  detaining  hand. 
[248] 


The  Moving  Shadow 

He  hurried  after  her.  Others  had  been  aroused  by 
the  nearness  of  the  pistol  shots.  Doors  were  thrown 
open.  Voices  demanded  the  meaning  of  the  disturb 
ance.  Putting  his  arm  around  the  trembling  girl, 
Langford  hastened  across  the  street  with  her.  At 
the  door  of  Gordon's  office,  he  paused. 

"  I  will  go  in  first,  Louise.     You  stay  here." 

He  spoke  authoritatively ;  but  she  slipped  in  ahead 
of  him.  Her  arms  fell  softly  over  the  bowed  shoulders. 
Her  cheek  dropped  to  the  dark,  gray-streaked  hair. 
There  was  little  change,  seemingly.  The  form  was  only 
a  little  more  relaxed,  the  attitude  only  a  little  more 
helpless.  It  seemed  as  if  he  might  have  been  sleeping. 
There  was  a  sound,  a  faint  drip,  drip,  drip,  in  the  room. 
It  was  steady,  monotonous,  like  drops  falling  from  rain 
pipes  after  the  storm  is  over.  Langford  opened  the 
door. 

"  Doc  !  Doc  Lockhart !  Some  one  send  Doc  over 
here  quick  !  Gordon's  office  !  Be  quick  about  it ! " 
he  cried,  in  a  loud,  firm  voice.  Then  he  closed  the 
door  and  locked  it.  In  response  to  his  call,  footsteps 
were  heard  running.  The  door  was  tried.  Then  came 
loud  knocking  and  voices  demanding  admittance. 

"  No  one  can  come  in  but  Doc,""  cried  Langford 
through  the  keyhole.  "  Send  him  quick,  somebody,  for 
God's  sake!  Where's  Jim  Munson  ?  He'll  get  him 
here.  Quick,  I  tell  you  !  " 

He  hastened  back  to  the  side  of  his  friend  and  passed 
[249] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

his  hand  gently  over  the  right  side  to  find  the  place 
whence  came  that  heartbreaking  drip.  Disappointed 
in  their  desire  to  get  in,  men  crowded  before  the  win 
dow.  Louise  stepped  softly  forward  and  drew  the 
blind  between  him  and  the  mass  of  curious  faces  with 
out.  She  was  very  pale,  but  quiet  and  self-possessed. 
She  had  rallied  when  Langford  had  whispered  to  her 
that  Gordon's  heart  was  still  beating.  The  doctor 
rapped  loudly,  calling  to  Langford  to  open.  Paul 
admitted  him  and  then  stepped  out  in  full  sight  of  all, 
his  hand  still  on  the  knob.  The  late  moon  was  just 
rising.  A  faint  light  spread  out  before  him. 

"Boys,1"  he  cried,  a  great  grief  in  his  stern  voice, 
"it's  murder.  Dick  Gordon's  murdered.  Now  get  — 
you  know  what  for  —  and  be  quick  about  it !  " 

They  laid  him  gently  on  the  floor,  took  off  his  coat, 
and  cut  away  the  blood-soaked  shirts.  Louise  assisted 
with  deft,  tender  hands.  Presently,  the  heavy  lids  lifted, 
the  gray  eyes  stared  vacantly  for  a  moment — then 
smiled.  Paul  bent  over  him. 

"  What  happened,  old  man  ? "  the  wounded  man 
whispered  gropingly.  It  required  much  effort  to  say 
this  little,  and  a  shadow  of  pain  fell  over  his  face. 

"  Hush,  Dick,  dear  boy,"  said  Langford,  with  a  catch 
in  his  voice.  "  You  're  all  right  now,  but  you  must  n't 
talk.  You  're  too  weak.  We  are  going  to  move  you 
across  to  the  hotel." 

"  But  what  happened  ?  "  he  insisted. 
[250] 


The  Moving  Shadow 

"  You  were  shot,  you  know,  Dick.  Keep  quiet, 
now  !  I  'm  going  for  a  stretcher." 

"  Am  I  done  for  ? "  the  weak  voice  kept  on.  But 
there  was  no  fear  in  it. 

"  You  will  be  if  you  keep  on  talking  like  that." 

Obeying  a  sign  from  the  doctor,  he  slipped  away  and 
out.  Gordon  closed  his  eyes  and  was  still  for  a  long 
time.  His  face  was  white  and  drawn  with  suffering. 

"  Has  he  fainted  ?  "  whispered  Louise. 

The  eyes  opened  quickly.  They  fell  upon  Louise, 
who  had  not  time  to  draw  away.  The  shadow  of  the 
old,  sweet  smile  came  and  hovered  around  his  lips. 

"  Louise,"  he  whispered. 

"Yes,  it  is  I,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  lightly  on 
his  forehead.  "  You  must  be  good  until  Paul  gets 
back." 

"  I  'm  done  for,  so  the  rest  of  the  criminal  calendar 
will  have  to  go  over.  You  can  go  back  to  —  God's 
country  —  sooner  than  you  thought." 

"  I  am  not  going  back  to  —  God's  country,"  said 
Louise,  unexpectedly.  She  had  not  meant  to  say  it, 
but  she  meant  it  when  she  said  it. 

"Come  here,  close  to  me,  Louise,"  said  Gordon,  in  a 
low  voice.  He  had  forgotten  the  doctor.  "  You  had 
better  —  I  '11  get  up  if  you  don't.  Closer  still.  I  want 
you  to  —  kiss  me  before  Paul  gets  back." 

Louise  grew  whiter.  She  glanced  hesitatingly  at  the 
doctor,  timidly  at  the  new  lover  in  the  old  man.  Then 
[  251  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

she  bent  over  him  where  he  lay  stretched  on  the  floor 
and  kissed  him  on  the  lips.  A  great  light  came  into 
his  eyes  before  he  closed  them  contentedly  and  slipped 
into  unconsciousness  again. 

Langford  rounded  up  Jim  Munson  and  sent  him 
across  with  a  stretcher,  and  then  ran  up-stairs  for  an 
extra  blanket  off  his  own  bed.  It  was  bitterly  cold,  and 
Dick  must  be  well  wrapped.  On  the  upper  landing,  he 
encountered  Mary  alone.  Something  in  her  desolate 
attitude  stopped  him. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Mary,"  he  demanded,  seizing 
her  hands. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered,  dully.     "  How  is  he  ? " 

"All  right,  I  trust  and  pray,  but  hurt  terribly, 
wickedly." 

He  did  not  quite  understand.  Did  she  love  Gordon  ? 
Was  that  why  she  looked  so  heart-broken  ?  Taking 
her  face  in  his  two  hands,  he  compelled  her  to  look  at 
him  straight. 

"  Now  tell  me,"  he  said. 

"  Did  I  kill  him  ?"  she  asked. 

"Kill  whom?" 

"  Why,  him  —  Jesse  Black." 

Then  he  understood. 

"  Mary,  my  girl,  was  it  you  ?  Were  those  last  shots 
yours  ? "  All  the  riotous  love  in  him  trembled  on  his 
tongue. 

"Did  I?"  she  persisted. 

[252] 


The  Moving  Shadow 

"  God  grant  you  did,"  he  said,  solemnly.  "  There  is 
blood  outside  the  window,  but  he  is  gone/' 

"I  don't  like  to  kill  people,"  she  said,  brokenly. 
"Why  do  I  always  have  to  do  it?" 

He  drew  her  to  him  strongly  and  held  her  close 
against  his  breast. 

"You  are  the  bravest  and  best  girl  on  earth,"  he 
said.  "  My  girl,  —  you  are  my  girl,  you  know,  —  here 
after  I  will  do  all  necessary  killing  for  —  my  wife." 

He  kissed  the  sweet,  quivering  lips  as  he  said  it. 

Some  one  came  running  up  the  stairs,  and  stopped 
suddenly  in  front  of  the  two  in  the  passage. 

"  Why,  Jim  ! "  cried  Langford  in  surprise.  "  I  thought 
you  had  gone  with  the  stretcher." 

"  I  did  go,"  said  Jim,  swallowing  hard.  He  shifted 
nervously  from  one  spurred  foot  to  the  other.  "  But  I 
came  back." 

He  looked  at  Langford  beseechingly. 

"  Boss,  I  want  to  see  you  a  minute,  ef —  Mary  don't 
mind." 

"I  will  come  with  you,  Jim,  now,"  said  Langford 
with  quick  apprehension. 

"  Mary," —  Jim  turned  away  and  stared  unseeingly 
down  the  staircase,  —  "go  back  to  your  room  for  a 
little  while.  I  will  call  for  you  soon.  Keep  up  your 
courage." 

"  Wait,"  said  Mary,  quietly.  There  were  unsounded 
depths  of  despair  in  her  voice,  though  it  was  so  clear 
[253] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

and  low.     "  There  was  another  shot.     I  remember  now. 
Jim,  tell  me ! " 

Jim  turned.  The  rough  cowboy's  eyes  were  wet  —  for 
the  first  time  in  many  a  year. 

"  They  —  hope  he  won't  die,  Mary,  girl.  Your 
father 's  shot  bad,  but  he  ain't  dead.  We  think  Black 
did  it  after  he  run  from  Gordon's  office.  We  found 
him  on  the  corner." 

Langford  squared  his  broad  shoulders  —  then  put 
strong,  protecting  arms  around  Mary.  Now  was  he 
her  all. 

"  Come,  my  darling,  we  will  go  to  him  together." 

She  pushed  him  from  her  violently. 

"I  will  go  alone.  Why  should  you  come?  He  is 
mine.  He  is  all  I  have  —  there  is  no  one  else.  Why 
don't  you  go  ?  You  are  big  and  strong  —  can't  you 
make  that  man  suffer  for  my  father's  murder  ?  Jim, 
take  me  to  him." 

She  seized  the  cowboy's  arm,  and  they  went  out 
together,  and  on  down  the  stairs. 

Langford  stood  still  a  moment,  following  them  with 
his  eyes.  His  face  was  white.  He  bent  his  head.  Jim, 
looking  back,  saw  him  thus,  the  dull  light  from  the 
hall-lamp  falling  upon  the  bent  head  and  the  yellow 
hair.  When  Langford  raised  his  head,  his  face,  though 
yet  white,  bore  an  expression  of  concentrated  deter 
mination. 

He,  too,  strode  quickly  down  the  stairs. 
[254] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  OUTLAW'S  LAST  STAND 

IN  the  morning  the  sheriff  went  to  the  island.  He 
reported  the  place  deserted.  He  made  many  other 
trips.  Sometimes  he  took  a  deputy  with  him  ; 
more  often  he  rode  unaccompanied.  Richard  Gordon 
lay  helpless  in  a  burning  fever,  with  Paul  Langford  in 
constant  and  untiring  attendance  upon  him.  George 
Williston  was  a  sadly  shattered  man. 

"  I  met  Black  on  the  corner  west  of  Gordon's  office," 
he  explained,  when  he  could  talk.  "I  had  not  been 
able  to  sleep,  and  had  been  walking  to  tire  my  nerves 
into  quiet.  I  was  coming  back  to  the  hotel  when  I 
heard  Black's  shot  and  then  Mary's.  I  ran  forward  and 
met  Black  on  the  corner,  running.  He  stopped,  cried 
out,  '  You,  too,  damn  you/  and  that 's  the  last  I  knew 
until  the  boys  picked  me  up." 

These  were  the  most  interested  —  Langford,  Gordon, 
Williston.  Had  they  been  in  the  count,  things  might 
have  been  different.  It  is  very  probable  a  posse  would 
have  been  formed  for  immediate  pursuit.  But  others 
must  do  what  had  been  better  done  had  it  not  been  for 
those  shots  in  the  dark.  There  was  blood  outside  Gor 
don's  window ;  yet  Black  had  not  crawled  home  to  die. 
[  255  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

He  had  not  gone  home  at  all,  —  at  least,  that  is  what 
the  sheriff  said.  No  one  had  seen  the  convicted  man 
after  his  desperate  and  spectacular  exit  from  the  court 
room  —  no  one  at  least  but  Louise,  Mary,  and  her 
father.  Mary's  shot  had  not  killed  him,  but  it  had 
saved  Richard  Gordon's  life,  which  was  a  far  better 
thing.  It  was  impossible  to  track  him  out  of  town,  for 
the  cattle  had  trampled  the  snow  in  every  direction. 

The  authorities  could  gather  no  outside  information. 
The  outlying  claims  and  ranches  refuted  indignantly 
any  hint  of  their  having  given  aid  or  shelter  to  the 
fugitive,  or  of  having  any  cognizance  whatsoever  re 
garding  his  possible  whereabouts.  So  the  pursuit,  at 
first  hot  and  excited,  gradually  wearied  of  following 
false  leads,  —  contented  itself  with  desultory  journeys 
when  prodded  thereto  by  the  compelling  power  of 
public  opinion,  —  finally  ceased  altogether  even  as  a 
pretence. 

One  of  the  first  things  done  following  the  dramatic 
day  in  court  had  been  to  send  the  officers  out  to  ,the 
little  shanty  in  the  valley  where  the  half-breed  lay  dead 
across  the  threshold.  A  watch  was  also  set  upon  this 
place  ;  but  no  one  ever  came  there. 

August  had  come  again,  and  Judge  Dale  was  in 
Kemah  to  hear  a  court  case. 

Langford  had  ridden  in  from  the  ranch  on  purpose 
to  see  Judge  Dale.  His  clothes  were  spattered  with 
mud.  There  had  been  a  succession  of  storms,  lasting 
[256] 


The  Outlaw's  Last  Stand 

for  several  days ;  last  night  a  cloud  had  burst  out  west 
somewhere.     All  the  creeks  were  swollen. 

"  Judge,  I  believe  Jesse  Black  has  been  on  that  island 
of  his  all  the  time/' 

"  What  makes  you  think  so,  Langford  ?  " 

"  Because  our  sheriff  is  four-flushing  —  he  always  was 
in  sympathy  with  the  gang,  you  know.  Besides,  where 
else  can  Black  be  ?  " 

Dale  puckered  his  lips  thoughtfully. 

"  What  have  you  heard  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Rumors  are  getting  pretty  thick  that  he  has  been 
seen  in  that  neighborhood  on  several  occasions.  It  is 
my  honest  belief  he  has  never  left  it." 

"  What  did  you  think  of  doing  about  it,  Langford  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  give  me  a  bench  warrant,  Judge.  I 
am  confident  that  I  can  get  him.  It  is  the  shame  of 
the  county  that  he  is  still  at  large." 

"  You  have  to  deal  with  one  of  the  worst  and  most 
desperate  outlaws  in  the  United  States.  You  must 
know  it  will  be  a  very  hazardous  undertaking,  granting 
your  surmises  to  be  correct,  and  fraught  with  grave 
peril  for  some  one." 

"I  understand  that  fully." 

"  This  duty  is  another's,  not  yours." 

"  But  that  other  is  incompetent." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  Judge,  rising  and  laying 
his  hand  on  Langford's  big  shoulder,  "do  you  really 
want  to  undertake  this  ? " 

17  [  257  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  I  certainly  do." 

"  Then  I  will  give  you  the  warrant,  gladly.  You  are 
the  one  man  in  the  State  to  do  it  —  unless  I  except  the 
gallant  little  deputy -marshal.  You  know  the  danger. 
I  admire  your  grit,  my  boy.  Get  him  if  you  can  ;  but 
take  care  of  yourself.  Your  life  is  worth  so  much  more 
than  his.  Who  will  you  take  with  you  ?  " 

"  Munson,  of  course.  He  will  go  in  spite  of  the 
devil,  and  he  's  the  best  man  I  know  for  anything  like 
this.  Then  I  thought  of  taking  the  deputy-sheriff. 
He's  been  true  blue  all  along,  and  has  done  the  very 
best  possible  under  the  conditions." 

"  Very  good.  Take  Johnson,  too.  He  11  be  glad  to 
go.  He's  the  pluckiest  little  fighter  in  the  world, — 
not  a  cowardly  hair  in  his  head." 

So  it  was  agreed,  and  the  next  morning,  bright  and 
early,  the  little  posse,  reinforced  by  others  who  had 
earnestly  solicited  the  privilege  of  going  along,  started 
out  on  its  journey.  The  rains  were  over,  but  the  roads 
were  heavy.  In  many  places,  they  were  forced  to  walk 
their  mounts.  No  one  but  the  initiated  know  what 
gumbo  mud  means.  Until  they  took  to  the  hills,  the 
horses  could  scarcely  lift  their  feet,  so  great  would  be 
the  weight  of  the  sticky  black  earth  which  clung  in 
immense  chunks  to  their  hoofs.  When  thev  struck  the 
hills,  it  was  better  and  they  pressed  forward  rapidly. 
Once  only  the  sheriff  had  asserted  that  he  had  run 
across  the  famous  outlaw.  Black  had  resisted  savagely 
[258] 


THE  L: 


The  Outlaw's  Last  Stand 

and  had  escaped,  sending  back  the  bold  taunt  that  he 
would  never  be  taken  alive.  Such  a  message  might 
mean  death  to  some  of  the  plucky  posse  now  making 
for  the  old-time  haunts  of  the  desperado. 

The  sun  struggled  from  behind  rain -exhausted  clouds, 
and  a  rollicking  wind  blew  up.  The  clouds  skurried 
a  way  toward  the  horizon. 

At  White  River  ford,  the  men  looked  at  each  other 
in  mute  inquiry.  The  stream  was  a  raging  torrent. 
It  was  swollen  until  it  was  half  again  its  ordinary 
width.  The  usually  placid  waters  were  rushing  and 
twisting  into  whirlpool-like  rapids. 

"  What  now  ?  "  asked  Baker,  the  deputy-sheriff. 

"  I  'm  thinkin'  this  here  little  pleasure  party  11  have 
to  be  postponed,"  vouchsafed  one  of  the  volunteers, 
nodding  his  head  wisely. 

"  We  '11  sure  have  to  wait  for  the  cloud-bust  to  run 
out,"  agreed  another. 

"  Why,  we  can  swim  that  all  right,"  put  in  Langford, 
rallying  from  his  momentary  set-back  and  riding  his 
mount  to  the  very  edge  of  the  swirling  water. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute  there,  Boss,"  cried  Jim.  "  Don't 
be  rash  now.  What 's  the  census  of  'pinion  o'  this 
here  company  ?  Shall  we  resk  the  ford  or  shall  we 
not?" 

"  Why,  Jim,"  said  Paul,  a  laugh  in  his  blue  eyes, 
"  are  you  afraid  ?  What 's  come  over  you  ?  " 

"Nothin'.  I  ain't  no  coward  neither,  and  ef  you 
[259] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

wasn't  the  Boss  I'd  show  you.  I  was  just  a  thin  kin' 
o'  —  somebody  who  'd  care  —  that 's  all." 

Just  for  a  moment  a  far-away  look  came  into  the 
young  ranchman's  eyes.  Then  he  straightened  himself 
in  his  saddle. 

"  I,  for  one,  am  going  to  see  this  thing  through,"  he 
said,  tersely.  "  What  do  you  say,  Johnson  ?  " 

"  I  never  for  one  minute  calculated  on  doing  a  thing 
else,"  replied  the  deputy-marshal,  who  had  been  stand 
ing  somewhat  apart  awaiting  the  end  of  the  controversy, 
with  a  good-humored  smile  in  his  twinkling  blue  eyes. 

"  Good  for  you  !     Then  come  on  ! " 

Paul  urged  Sade  into  the  water.  He  was  followed 
unhesitatingly  by  Munson,  Johnson,  and  Baker.  The 
others  held  back,  and  finally,  after  a  short  consultation, 
wheeled  and  retraced  their  steps. 

"  I  ain't  no  coward,  neither,"  muttered  one,  as  he 
rode  away,  "but  I  plumb  don't  see  no  sense  in  bein' 
drownded.  I  'd  ruther  be  killed  a  roundin'  up  Jesse." 

The  horses  which  had  made  the  initial  plunge  were 
already  in  water  up  to  their  breasts.  The  current  had 
an  ominous  rush  to  it. 

"  I  don't  care.  I  did  n't  mean  to  hold  over  and  let 
our  quarry  get  wind  of  this  affair,"  cried  Langford, 
over  his  shoulder.  "  Keep  your  rifles  dry,  boys  !  " 

Suddenly,  without  warning,  Sade  stepped  into  a  hole 

and  lost   her  balance   for  a  moment.     She  struggled 

gallantly  and   recovered   herself,  yet  it  weakened  her. 

[260] 


The  Outlaw's  Last  Stand 

It  was  not  long  before  all  the  horses  were  compelled  to 
swim,  and  the  force  of  the  current  immediately  began 
driving  them  down  stream.  Sade  fought  bravely  against 
the  pressure.  She  was  a  plucky  little  cow  pony  and 
loved  her  master,  but  it  was  about  all  she  could  do  to 
keep  from  going  under,  let  alone  making  much  head 
way  against  the  tremendous  pressure  of  the  current. 
Langford's  danger  was  grave. 

"  Steady,  my  girl ! "  he  encouraged.  He  flung  his 
feet  free  of  the  stirrups  so  that,  if  she  went  under, 
he  would  be  ready  to  try  it  alone.  Poor  Sade !  He 
should  hate  to  lose  her.  If  he  released  her  now  and 
struck  off  by  himself,  she  might  make  it.  He  had 
never  known  White  River  to  run  so  sullenly  and 
strongly  ;  it  would  be  almost  impossible  for  a  man 
to  breast  it.  And  there  was  Mary  —  he  could  never 
go  back  to  her  and  claim  her  for  his  own  until  he 
could  bring  Black  back,  too,  to  suffer  for  her  father's 
wrongs. 

At  that  moment,  Sade  gave  a  little  convulsive  shud 
der,  and  the  water  rolled  over  her  head.  Langford 
slipped  from  the  saddle,  but  in  the  instant  of  contact 
with  the  pushing  current,  his  rifle  was  jerked  violently 
from  his  hand  and  sank  out  of  sight.  With  no  time 
for  vain  regrets,  he  struck  out  for  the  shore.  The 
struggle  was  tremendous.  He  was  buffeted  and  beaten, 
and  borne  farther  and  farther  down  the  stream.  More 
than  once  in  the  endeavor  to  strike  too  squarely  across, 
[261] 


Langford  of  the  Thr«*e  Bars 

his  head  went  under ;  but  he  was  a  strong  swimmer, 
and  soon  scrambling  up  the  bank  some  distance  below 
the  ford,  he  turned  and  sent  a  resonant  hail  to  his 
comrades.  They  responded  lustily  He  had  been  the 
only  one  unhorsed.  He  threw  himself  face  downward 
to  cough  up  some  of  the  water  he  had  been  compelled 
to  swallow,  and  Munson,  running  up,  began  slapping 
him  vigorously  upon  the  back.  He  desisted  only  to 
run  swiftly  along  the  bank. 

"  Good  for  you,"  Jim  cried,  approvingly,  assisting 
Langford's  spent  horse  up  the  bank.  Coming  up  to 
the  party  where  Langford  still  lay  stretched  out  full 
length,  Sade  rubbed  her  nose  inquiringly  over  the  big 
shoulders  lying  so  low,  and  whinnied  softly. 

"  Hello  there !  "  cried  Paul,  springing  excitedly  to  his 
feet.  "  Where  'd  you  come  from  ?  Thought  you  had 
crossed  the  bar.  Now  I'll  just  borrow  a  gun  from  one 
of  you  fellows  and  we  11  be  getting  along.  Better  my 
rifle  than  my  horse  at  this  stage  of  the  game,  anyway." 

The  little  party  pushed  on.  The  longer  half  of  their 
journey  was  still  before  them.  On  the  whole,  perhaps, 
it  was  better  the  crowd  had  split.  There  was  more 
unity  of  purpose  among  those  who  were  left.  The  sun 
was  getting  hot,  and  Langford's  clothes  dried  rapidly. 

Arrived  at  the  entrance  of  the  cross  ravine  which 
Williston  had  once  sought  out,  the  four  men  rode  their 
horses  safely  through  its  length.  The  waters  of  the 
June  rise  had  receded,  and  the  outlaw's  presumably 


The  Outlaw's  Last  Stand 

deserted  holding  was  once  more  a  peninsula.  The 
wooded  section  in  the  near  distance  lay  green,  cool,  and 
innocent-looking  in  the  late  summer  sun.  The  sands 
between  stretched  out  hot  in  the  white  glare.  From 
the  gulch  covert,  the  wiry  marshal  rode  first.  His 
face  bore  its  wonted  expression  of  good-humored  alert 
ness,  but  there  was  an  inscrutable  glint  in  his  eyes  that 
might  have  found  place  there  because  of  a  sure  real 
ization  of  the  hazard  of  the  situation  and  of  his  accept 
ing  it.  Langford  followed  him  quickly,  and  Munson 
and  Baker  were  not  far  behind.  They  trotted  breezily 
across  the  open  in  a  bunch,  without  words.  Where 
the  indistinct  trail  to  the  house  slipped  into  the  wooded 
enclosure,  they  paused.  Was  the  desperado  at  last 
really  rounded  up  so  that  he  must  either  submit 
quietly  or  turn  at  bay  ?  It  was  so  still.  Spots  of  sun 
light  had  filtered  through  the  foliage  and  flecked  the 
pathway.  Insects  flitted  about.  Bumble  bees  droned. 
Butterflies  hovered  over  the  snow-on-the-mountain.  A 
turtle  dove  mourned.  A  snake  glided  sinuously  through 
the  grass.  Peering  down  the  warm,  shaded  interior, 
one  might  almost  imagine  one  was  in  the  heart  of  an 
ancient  wood.  The  drowsy  suggestions  of  solitude 
crept  in  upon  the  sensibilities  of  all  the  men  and  filled 
them  with  vague  doubts.  If  this  was  the  haunt  of  a 
man,  a  careless,  sordid  man,  would  this  place  which 
knew  him  breathe  forth  so  sweet,  still,  and  undisturbed 
a  peace? 

[263] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

Langford  first  shook  himself  free  of  the  haunting  fear 
of  a  deserted  hearthstone. 

"  I  'd  stake  my  all  on  my  belief  that  he  's  there,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Now  listen,  boys.  Johnson  and 
I  will  ride  to  the  house  and  make  the  arrest,  providing 
he  does  n't  give  us  the  slip.  Baker,  you  and  Jim  will 
remain  here  in  ambush  in  case  he  does.  He  's  bound 
to  come  this  way  to  reach  the  mainland.  Ready, 
Johnson  ?  " 

Jim  interposed.     His  face  was  flinty  with  purpose. 

"  Not  ef  the  court  knows  herself,  and  I  think  she 
do.  Me  and  Johnson  will  do  that  there  little  arrestin' 
job  and  the  Boss  hell  stay  here  in  the  ambush.  Ef 
anybody  's  a  countin'  on  my  totin'  the  Boss's  openwork 
body  back  to  Mary  Williston,  it's  high  time  he  was 
a  losin'  the  count,  for  I  ain't  goin'  to  do  it." 

He  guided  his  horse  straight  into  the  path. 

"  But,  Jim,"  expostulated  Langford,  laying  a  detain 
ing  hand  on  the  cowboy's  shoulder,  "as  for  danger, 
there's  every  bit  as  much  —  and  more  —  here.  Do 
you  think  Jesse  Black  will  tamely  sit  down  and  wait 
for  us  to  come  up  and  nab  him  ?  I  think  he  '11 
run." 

"Then  why  are  you  a  shirkin',  ef  this  is  the  worst 
spot  o'  all  ?  You  ain't  no  coward,  Boss,  leastways  you 
never  was.  Why  don't  you  stay  by  it  ?  That 's  what 
I'd  like  to  know." 

Johnson  grinned  appreciatively. 
[264] 


The  Outlaw's  Last  Stand 

"  Well,  there  's  always  the  supposition  that  he  may 
not  see  us  until  we  ride  into  his  clearing,"  admitted 
Langford.  "Of  course,  then  —  it's  too  late." 

Jim  blocked  the  way. 

"  I  'm  an  ornery,  no-'count  cowboy  with  no  one  in 
this  hull  world  to  know  or  care  what  becomes  o'  me. 
There  ain't  no  one  to  care  but  me,  and  I  can't  say  I  'm 
a  hurtin'  myself  any  a  carin' !  You  just  wait  till  I 
screech,  will  you?" 

"Jim,"  said  Langford,  huskily,  "you  go  back  and 
behave  yourself.  I  'm  the  Boss  —  not  you.  You  Ve 
got  to  obey  orders.  You  Ve  sassed  me  long  enough. 
You  get  back,  now  !  " 

"Tell  Mary,  ef  I  come  back  a  deader,"  said  Jim, 
"  that  women  are  superfluous  critters,  but  I  forgive 
her.  She  can't  help  bein'  a  woman." 

He  gave  his  horse  a  dig  with  his  knee  and  the 
animal  bounded  briskly  forward. 

"  Jim  !  You  fool  boy  !  Come  back  !  "  cried  Lang- 
ford,  plunging  after  him. 

Johnson  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  wheeled  his  horse 
into  clever  concealment  on  one  side  of  the  path. 

"  Let  the  fool  kids  go,"  he  advised,  dryly.  "  I  'm 
a  lookin'  for  Jess  to  run,  anyway." 

The  two  men  rode  boldly  up  toward  the  house.     It 

seemed   deserted.      Weeds   were   growing   around   the 

door-stoop,   and    crowding    thickly    up    to    the   front 

windows.     A  spider's  silver  web  gleamed  from  casing  to 

[  265  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

panel  of  the  warped  and  weather-stained  door.  The 
windows  were  blurred  with  the  tricklings  of  rain  through 
seasons  of  dust.  Everything  appeared  unkempt,  forlorn, 
desolate. 

There  was  a  sound  from  the  rear.  It  carried  a 
stealthy  significance.  A  man  leaped  from  the  protec 
tion  of  the  cabin  and  was  seen  running  toward  the 
barn.  He  was  heavily  armed. 

"Stop  that,  Black!"  yelled  Langford,  authorita 
tively.  "  We  are  going  to  take  you,  dead  or  alive  — 
you  "*d  better  give  yourself  up !  It  will  be  better 
for  you ! " 

The  man  answered  nothing. 

"Wing  him  with  your  rifle,  Jim,  before  he  gets 
to  the  barn,"  said  Paul,  quickly. 

The  shot  went  wild.  Black  wrenched  the  door  open, 
sprang  upon  the  already  bridled  horse,  and  made  a  bold 
dash  for  the  farther  woods  —  and  not  in  the  direction 
where  determined  men  waited  in  ambush.  What  did  it 
mean  ?  As  his  horse  cleared  the  stable,  he  turned  and 
shot  a  vindictive  challenge  to  meet  his  pursuers. 

"  You  won't  take  me  alive  —  and  dead,  I  won't  go 
alone ! " 

He  plunged  forward  in  a  northerly  direction.  Dimly 
he  could  be  seen  through  the  underbrush ;  but  plainly 
could  be  heard  the  crackling  of  branches  and  the 
snapping  of  twigs  as  his  horse  whipped  through  the 
low-lying  foliage.  Was  there,  then,  another  way  to 
[266] 


The  Outlaw's  Last  Stand 

the  mainland  —  other  than  the  one  over  which  John 
son  and  Baker  kept  guard  ?  How  could  it  be  ?  How 
Langford  longed  for  his  good  rifle  and  its  carrying 
power.  But  he  knew  how  to  use  a  pistol,  too.  Both 
men  sent  menacing  shots  after  the  fugitive.  Langford 
could  not  account  for  the  strange  direction.  The 
only  solution  was  that  Black  was  leading  his  pursuers 
a  chase  through  the  woods,  hoping  to  decoy  them 
so  deeply  into  the  interior  that  he  might,  turning 
suddenly  and  straightly,  gain  time  for  his  desperate 
sprint  across  the  exposed  stretch  of  sand.  If  this  were 
true,  Baker  and  Johnson  would  take  care  of  him  there. 

Black  returned  the  fire  vengefully.  A  bullet  scraped 
his  horse's  flank.  His  hat  was  shot  from  his  head.  He 
turned  savagely  in  his  saddle  with  a  yell  of  defiance. 

"  You  '11  never  take  me  alive  !  " 

The  fusillade  was  furious,  but  the  trees  and  branches 
proved  Black's  friends.  It  was  impossible  to  judge 
one's  aim  aright.  His  horse  staggered.  Another  bullet 
sang  and  purred  through  the  foliage,  and  the  horse  fell. 

"  My  God,  Jim  !  "  cried  Langford.  "  My  cartridges 
are  out !  Give  me  your  gun  !  " 

For  answer,  Jim  sent  another  bullet  whistling  for 
ward.  Black,  rising  from  his  fallen  horse,  fell  back. 

"  I  got  him  ! "  yelled  Jim,  exultantly.  He  spurred 
forward. 

"  Careful,  Jim  ! "   warned  Langford.     "  He  may  be 
'  playing  possum,'  you  know." 
[267] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  You  stay  where  you  are,"  cried  Jim.  "  You  ain't 
got  no  gun.  Stay  back,  you  fool  Boss  !  " 

Langford  laughed  a  little. 

"You're  the  fool  boy,  Jim,"  he  said.  "Ill  go 
without  a  gun  if  you  won't  give  me  yours." 

They  rode  cautiously  up  to  the  prostrate  figure.  It 
was  lying  face  downward,  one  arm  outstretched  on  the 
body  of  the  dead  horse,  the  other  crumpled  under  the 
man's  breast.  Blood  oozed  from  under  his  shoulder. 

"He's  done  for,"  said  Jim,  in  a  low  voice.  In  the 
presence  of  death,  all  hatred  had  gone  from  him.  The 
man  apparently  had  paid  all  he  could  of  his  debts  on 
earth.  The  body  lying  there  so  low  was  the  body  of 
a  real  man.  Whatever  his  crimes,  he  had  been  a  fine 
type  of  physical  manhood.  He  had  never  cringed. 
He  had  died  like  a  man,  fighting  to  the  last. 

Jim  slowly  and  thoughtfully  slipped  his  revolver  into 
its  holster  and  dismounted.  Langford,  too,  sprang 
lightly  from  his  saddle. 

Black  had  been  waiting  for  this.  His  trained  ear 
had  no  sooner  caught  the  soft  rubbing  sound  of  the 
pistol  slipping  into  its  leathern  case  than  he  leaped  to 
his  feet  and  stretched  out  the  crumpled  arm  with  its 
deadly  weapon  pointing  straight  at  the  heart  of 
Langford  of  the  Three  Bars. 

"  Now,  damn  you,  we  're  quits  !  "  he  cried,  hoarsely. 

There  was  not  time  for  Jim  to  draw,  but,  agile  as  a 
cat,  he  threw  himself  against  Black's  arm  and  the  bullet 
[268] 


The  Outlaw's  Last  Stand 

went  wild.  For  a  moment  the  advantage  was  his,  and 
he  wrested  the  weapon  from  Black's  hand.  It  fell  to  the 
ground.  The  two  men  grappled.  The  struggle  was  short 
and  fierce.  Each  strove  with  all  the  strength  of  his  con 
centrated  hate  to  keep  the  other's  hand  from  his  belt. 

When  the  feet  of  the  wrestlers  left  the  fallen  weapon 
free,  Langford,  who  had  been  waiting  for  this  opportu 
nity,  sprang  forward  and  seized  it  with  a  thrill  of 
satisfaction.  Command  of  the  situation  was  once  more 
his.  But  the  revolver  was  empty,  and  he  turned  to 
throw  himself  into  the  struggle  empty-handed.  Jim 
would  thus  be  given  a  chance  to  draw. 

At  that  moment,  Black  twisted  his  arm  free  and  his 
hand  dropped  like  a  flash  to  his  belt,  where  there  was  a 
revolver  that  was  loaded.  Jim  hugged  him  closely,  but 
it  was  of  no  use  now.  The  bullet  tore  its  cruel  way 
through  his  side.  His  arms  relaxed  their  hold  —  he 
slipped  —  slowly  —  down  —  down.  Black  shook  him 
self  free  of  him  impatiently  and  wheeled  to  meet  his 
great  enemy. 

"  Quits  at  last !  "  he  said,  with  an  ugly  smile. 

Quits  indeed  !  For  Jim,  raising  himself  slightly, 
was  able  to  draw  at  last ;  and  even  as  he  spoke,  the 
outlaw  fell. 

"Jim,  my  boy,"  said  Langford,  huskily.  He  was 
kneeling,  Jim's  head  in  his  arms. 

"  Well,  Boss,"  said  Jim,  trying  to  smile.  His  eyes 
were  clear. 

[269] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  It  was  my  affair,  Jim,  you  ought  not  to  have  done 
it,"  said  Langford,  brokenly. 

"  It  "s  all  right  —  Boss  —  don 't  you  worry  —  I  saw 
you  —  in  the  hall  that  night.  You  are  —  the  Boss. 
Tell  Mary  so.  Tell  her  I  was  —  glad  —  to  go  —  so 
you  could  go  to  her  —  and  it  would  be  —  all  right. 
She  —  loves  you  —  Boss  — •  you  need  n't  be  afraid." 

"Jim,  I  cannot  bear  it ;  I  must  go  in  your  stead." 

"  To  Mary  —  yes."  His  voice  sank  lower  and  lower. 
An  added  paleness  stole  over  his  face,  but  his  eyes 
looked  into  LangfoixTs  serenely,  almost  happily. 

"  Go  —  to  Mary  in  my  stead  —  Boss,"  he  whispered. 
"  Tell  her  Jim  gave  his  Boss  —  to  her  —  when  he  had 
to  go  —  tell  her  he  was  glad  to  go  —  I  used  to  think  it 
was  '  Mouse-hair '  —  I  am  glad  it  is  —  Mary  —  tell  her 
good-bye  —  tell  her  the  Three  Bars  would  n't  be  the 
same  to  Jim  with  a  woman  in  it  anyway  —  tell  her — " 

And  with  a  sigh  Jim  died. 


[270] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  PARTY  AT  THE  LAZY  S 

MARY  stared  thoughtfully  into  the  mirror.     It 
was  a  better  one  than  the  sliver  into  which  she 
had  looked  more  than  a  year  before,  when  Paul 
Langford  came  riding  over  the  plains  to  the  Lazy  S. 
A  better  house  had  risen  from  the  ashes  of  the  home 
stead   laid  waste  by  the  cattle  rustlers.     Affairs  were 
well  with  George  Williston  now  that  the  hand  of  no 
man  was  against  him.     He  prospered. 

Louise  stepped  to  the  door. 

"  I  am  in  despair,  Mary,""  she  said,  whimsically. 
"  Mrs.  White  has  ordered  me  out  of  the  kitchen. 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ? " 

"  Louise !  Did  you  really  have  the  hardihood  to 
presume  to  encroach  on  Mother  White's  preserves  — 
you  —  a  mere  bride  of  five  months1  standing?  You 
should  be  grateful  she  did  n't  take  the  broom  to  you." 

"She  can  cook,"  said  Louise,  laughing.  "I  admit 
that.  I  only  offered  to  peel  potatoes.  When  one  stops 
to  consider  that  the  whole  county  is  coming  to  the 
'  house-warming '  of  the  Lazy  S,  one  can't  help  being 
worried  about  potatoes  and  such  minor  things." 
[  271  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  Do  you  think  the  whole  county  is  coming, 
Louise  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Louise  Gordon,  positively,  slipping 
away  again.  She  was  a  welcome  guest  at  the  ranch,  and 
her  heart  was  in  the  success  of  to-night's  party. 

Mary  had  dressed  early.  As  hostess,  she  had  laid 
aside  her  short  skirt,  leather  leggings,  and  other  boyish 
"  fixings  "  which  she  usually  assumed  for  better  ease  in 
her  life  of  riding.  She  was  clad  simply  in  a  long  black 
skirt  and  white  shirt-waist.  Her  hair  was  coiled  in 
thick  braids  about  her  well-shaped  head,  lending  her 
a  most  becoming  stateliness. 

Would  Paul  Langford  come  ?  He  had  been  bidden. 
Her  father  could  not  know  that  he  would  not  care  to 
come.  Her  father  did  not  know  that  she  had  sent 
Langford  away  that  long-ago  night  in  December  and 
that  he  had  not  come  back  —  at  least  to  her.  Nat 
urally,  he  had  been  bidden  first  to  George  Williston's 
'house-warming.'  The  men  of  the  Three  Bars  and 
of  the  Lazy  S  were  tried  friends  —  but  he  would  not 
care  to  come. 

Listen !  Some  one  was  coming.  It  was  much  too 
soon  for  guests.  The  early  October  twilight  was 
only  now  creeping  softly  over  the  landscape.  It  was 
a  still  evening.  She  heard  distinctly  the  rhythmi 
cal  pound  of  hoof-beats  on  the  hardened  trail.  Would 
the  rider  go  on  to  Kemah,  or  would  he  turn  in  at  the 
Lazy  S  ? 

[272] 


The  Party  at  the  Lazy  S 

"  Hello,  the  house ! "  hailed  the  horseman,  cheerily, 
drawing  rein  at  the  very  door.  "  Hello,  within  !  " 

The  visitor  threw  wide  the  door,  and  Williston's 
voice  called  cordially  : 

"  Come  in,  come  in,  Langford  !  I  am  glad  you  came 
early."  , 

"  Will  you  send  Mary  out,  Williston  ?  I  need  your 
chore  boy  to  help  me  water  Sade  here." 

The  voice  was  merry,  but  there  was  a  vibrant  tone  in 
it  that  made  the  listening  girl  tremble  a  little.  Lang- 
ford  never  waited  for  opportunities.  He  made  them. 

Mary  came  to  the  door  with  quiet  self-composure. 
She  had  known  from  the  first  the  stranger  was  Langford. 
How  like  the  scene  of  a  summer's  day  more  than  a  year 
past ;  but  how  far  sweeter  the  maid  —  how  much  more 
it  meant  to  the  man  now  than  then  ! 

"  Father,  show  Mr.  Langford  in,"  she  said,  smiling  a 
welcome.  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  take  Sade  to  the 
spring." 

She  took  hold  of  the  bridle  rein  trailing  to  the 
ground.  Langford  leaped  lightly  from  his  saddle. 

"  I  said  e  help  me,1 "  he  corrected. 

"  The  spring  is  down  there,"  she  directed.  "  I  think 
you  know  the  way."  She  turned  to  enter  the  house. 

For  an  instant,  Langford  hesitated.  A  shadow  fell 
across  his  face. 

"  I  want  you  to  come,  Mary,"  he  said,  simply.     "  It 
is  only  hospitable,  you  know." 
18  [  273  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

"  Oh,  if  you  put  it  in  that  way  — ,"  she  started  gayly 
down  the  path. 

He  followed  her  more  slowly.  A  young  moon  hung 
in  the  western  sky.  The  air  was  crisp  with  the  coming 
frost.  The  path  was  strewn  with  dead  cottonwood 
leaves  which  rustled  dryly  under  their  feet. 

At  the  spring,  shadowed  by  the  biggest  cottonwood, 
she  waited  for  him. 

"  I  wish  my  father  would  cut  down  that  tree,"  she 
said,  shivering. 

"  You  are  cold,""  he  said.  His  voice  was  not  quite 
steady.  He  took  off  his  coat  and  wrapped  it  around 
her,  despite  her  protests.  He  wanted  to  hold  her  then, 
but  he  did  not,  though  the  touch  of  her  sent  the  blood 
bounding  riotously  through  his  veins. 

"  You  shall  wear  the  coat.  I  —  do  not  want  you  to 
go  in  yet." 

"  But  Sade  has  finished,  and  people  will  be  coming 
soon."" 

"  I  will  not  keep  you  long.  I  want  you  to  —  Mary, 
my  girl,  I  tried  to  kill  Black,  but  —  Jim  — "  his  voice 
choked  a  little  — "  if  it  had  n't  been  for  Jim,  Black 
would  have  killed  me.  I  thought  I  could  do  it.  I 
meant  to  have  you.  Jim  said  it  was  all  the  same  — 
his  doing  it  in  my  stead.  I  came  to-night  to  ask  you 
if  it  is  the  same.  Is  it,  Mary  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  little  while.  How  still  a 
night  it  was !  Lights  twinkled  from  the  windows  of 
[274] 


The  Party  at  the  Lazy  S 

the  new  house.     Now  and  then  a  dry  leaf  rustled  as 
some  one,  the  man,  the  girl,  or  the  horse,  moved. 

"  It  is  the  same,"  she  said  at  last,  brokenly. 

Her  eyes  were  heavy  with  unshed  tears.  "  But  I 
never  meant  it,  Paul.  I  was  wild  that  night,  but  I 
never  meant  that  you  or  —  Jim  should  take  life  or  — 
or  —  give  yours.  I  never  meant  it ! " 

His  heart  leaped,  but  he  did  not  touch  her. 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  turned  restlessly  toward  the  house. 

"My  father  will  be  wanting  me,"  she  said.  "I 
must  go." 

"  You  shall  not  go  until  you  have  told  me,"  he  said. 
"  You  must  tell  me.  You  never  have,  you  know.  Do 
you  love  me  ?  " 

"  You  have  not  told  me,  either,"  she  resisted.  "  You 
are  not  fair." 

He  laughed  under  his  breath,  then  bent  his  sunny 
head  —  close. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  so  soon  ?  "  he  whispered. 

Suddenly,  he  caught  her  to  him,  strongly,  as  was 
his  way. 

"  I  will  tell  you  again,"  he  said,  softly.  "  I  love  you, 
my  girl,  do  you  hear  ?  There  is  no  one  but  you  in  all 
the  world." 

The  fair  head  bent  closer  and  closer,  then  he  kissed 
her  —  the  little  man-coated  figure  in  his  arms. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  said. 

[  275  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

She  trembled  in  his  embrace.     He  kissed  her  again. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  repeated. 

She  hid  her  face  on  his  breast.     He  lifted  it  gently. 

"  I  tell  you  —  I  love  you,"  he  said. 

He  placed  her  arms  around  his  neck.  She  pressed 
her  lips  to  his,  once,  softly. 

"  I  love  you,"  she  whispered. 

"My  girl,  my  girl! "he  said  in  answer.  The  con 
fession  was  far  sweeter  than  he  had  ever  dreamed.  He 
held  her  cheek  pressed  close  to  his  for  a  long  moment. 

"  The  Three  Bars  is  waiting  for  its  mistress,"  he  said 
at  last,  exultantly.  "A  mistress  and  a  new  foreman 
all  at  once  —  the  boys  will  have  to  step  lively." 

"A  new  foreman  ?  "  asked  Mary  in  surprise.  "  I  did 
not  know  you  had  a  new  foreman." 

"I  shall  have  one  in  a  month,"  he  said,  smilingly. 
"  By  that  time,  George  Williston  will  have  sold  the 
Lazy  S  for  good  money,  invested  the  proceeds  in  cattle, 
turned  the  whole  bunch  in  to  range  with  the  Three  Bars 
herds,  and  on  November  first,  he  will  take  charge  of 
the  worldly  affairs  of  one  Paul  Langford  and  his  wife, 
of  the  Three  Bars." 

"  Really,  Paul  ? "  The  brown  eyes  shone  with 
pleasure. 

"  Really,  Mary." 

"  Has  my  father  consented  ?  " 

"  No,  but  he  will  when  he  finds  I  cannot  do  without 
him  and  when  —  I  marry  his  daughter." 
[276] 


The  Party  at  the  Lazy  S 

Hoof-beats  on  the  sod  !  The  guests  were  coming 
at  last.  The  beats  rang  nearer  and  nearer.  From 
Kemah,  from  the  Three  Bars  trail,  from  across  country, 
they  were  coming.  All  the  neighboring  ranchmen  and 
homesteaders  with  their  families  and  all  the  available 
cowboys  had  been  bidden  to  the  frolic.  The  stable- 
yard  was  filling.  Hearty  greetings,  loud  talking,  and 
laughter  floated  out  on  the  still  air. 

Laughing  like  children  caught  in  a  prank,  the  two 
at  the  spring  clasped  hands  and  ran  swiftly  to  the 
house.  Breathless  but  radiant,  Mary  came  forward  to 
greet  her  guests  while  Langford  slipped  away  to  put 
up  Sade. 

The  revel  was  at  its  highest.  Mary  and  Louise  were 
distributing  good  things  to  eat  and  drink  to  the  hun 
gry  cowmen.  The  rooms  were  so  crowded,  many  stood 
without,  looking  in  at  the  doors  and  windows.  The 
fragrance  of  hot  coffee  drifted  in  from  the  kitchen. 

Langford  stood  up.  A  sudden  quiet  fell  upon  the 
people. 

"  Friends  and  neighbors,"  he  said,  "  shall  we  drink  to 
the  prosperity  of  the  Lazy  S,  the  health  and  happiness 
of  its  master  and  its  mistress  ?  " 

The  health  was  drunk  with  cheers  and  noisy  con 
gratulations.  Conversation  began  again,  but  Langford 
still  stood. 

"  Friends  and  neighbors,"  he  said  again.  His  voice 
was  grave.  "Let  us  drink  to  one  —  not  with  us 
[  277  ] 


Langford  of  the  Three  Bars 

to-night  —  a  brave  man  — "  in  spite  of  himself  his 
voice  broke  —  "let  us  drink  to  the  memory  of  Jim 
Munson." 

Silently  all  rose,  and  drank.  They  were  rough  men 
and  women,  most  of  them,  but  they  were  a  people  who 
held  personal  bravery  among  the  virtues.  Many  stood 
with  dimmed  eyes,  picturing  that  final  scene  on  the 
island  in  which  a  brave  man's  life  had  closed.  Few 
there  would  soon  forget  Jim  Munson,  cow-puncher  of 
the  Three  Bars. 

There  was  yet  another  toast  Langford  was  to  propose 
to-night.  Now  was  the  opportune  time.  Jim  would 
have  wished  it  so.  It  was  fitting  that  this  toast  follow 
Jim's  —  it  was  Jim  who  had  made  it  possible  that  it  be 
given.  He  turned  to  Mary  and  touched  her  lightly  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  Will  you  come,  Mary  ?  "  he  said. 

She  went  with  him,  wonderingly.  He  led  her  to  the 
centre  of  the  room.  His  arm  fell  gently  over  her 
shoulders.  Her  cheeks  flushed  with  the  sudden  knowl 
edge  of  what  was  coming,  but  she  looked  at  him  with 
perfect  trust  and  unquestioning  love. 

"  Friends  and  neighbors,11  his  voice  rang  out  so  that 
all  might  hear,  "  I  ask  you  to  drink  to  the  health  and 
happiness  of  the  future  mistress  of  the  Three  Bars  !  " 

THE    END 


RECENT 

WESTERN  FICTION 

PUBLISHED   BY 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 


RANDALL    PARRISH'S    FAMOUS    STORY    OF 
DAKOTA   IN    THE    '7o's 

BOB  HAMPTON 

OF  PLACER 


The  surpassing  power  of  this  new  novel  marks  it  not  only  as 
the  best  by  Mr.  Parrish,  but  as,  probably,  the  strongest  in 
human  interest  of  the  season.  Seldom  has  any  novel  exceeded 
it  in  virile  strength  and  the  quality  that  arouses  the  emotions.  — 
Grand  Rapids  Herald. 

Randall  Parrish' s  latest  novel  is  by  far  his  best  and  comes  as 
an  invigorating  relief  from  the  flood  of  wild  and  woolly  West 
ern  clap-trap  that  followed  the  success  of  Wister's  tf Virginian." 
Bob  Hampton  of  Placer  and  all  the  men  and  women  who  fig 
ure  in  the  pages  of  Mr.  Parrish' s  latest  story  are  creatures  of 
flesh  and  blood.  They  are  of  the  West  Western,  and  the  pre 
sentment  of  their  surroundings  is  true  and  leal  to  this  biggest, 
bravest,  breeziest,  and  best  region  of  America.  The  inci 
dents  of  the  narrative  are  stirring  without  improbability, 
thrilling  without  the  blood-raw  preposterousness  of  so  many 
"  Western  tales."  The  epical  event  of  the  book  is  Custer's 
last  fight,  but  the  scenes,  personages,  and  events  surrounding  it 
are  naturally  and  convincingly  tributary  to  the  novel.  —  Helena 
Independent. 

The  story  is  told  with  immense  interest  and  is  one  that  no 
reader  will  willingly  lay  down  after  beginning  it.  Parrish  is 
well  known  to  the  reading  public.  This  novel  proves  that  he 
has  not  lost  any  of  his  artistic  genius  or  strength  of  conception 
and  skilful  working  out  of  detail.  It  is  a  wonderfully  attrac 
tive  story.  —  Salt  Lake  Tribune. 

Illustrated  in  Color  by  Arthur  I.  Keller 

A.    C.    McCLURG   &  CO.,  Publishers 


EIGHT    EDITIONS    IN    FOUR    MONTHS 
OF 

BOB  HAMPTON 

OF  PLACER 

American  literature  owes  much  to  Mr.  Parrish,  and  he  is 
increasing  the  debt  still  more  and  more  with  every  new  volume. 
There  is  no  other  among  the  noteworthy  writers  of  the  day 
just  like  him,  and  very  few  in  the  notable  army  who  have 
preceded  him. 

If  the  long-sought  and  oft-prophesied  American  novel  <voere  to 
be  selected  from  the  fiction  that  has  already  been  written  on  this 
side  of  the  big  water,  it  <would  not  be  strange  if  the  mark  of 
pure  gold  fwere  to  fall  upon  one  of  these  four  remarkable  stories 
that  Randall  Parrish  has  placed  upon  the  world"1  s  shelves. 

There  will  be  those  in  any  number  who  will  contend  that 
this  last  series  of  Western  pictures  is  his  best,  and  certain  it  is 
that  he  has  never  done  better  descriptive  work  than  in  his 
dramatic  story  of  the  Little  Big  Horn,  the  tragedy  which  ended 
the  promising  career  of  General  Custer  and  gave  a  new  defini 
tion  to  the  word  "  horror." — Detroit  Times. 

"Bob  Hampton  of  Placer"  is  another  thrilling  American 
novel  by  Randall  Parrish.  Like  its  predecessors,  it  commands 
attention  from  the  start  and  holds  the  interest  absorbed  by  its 
continuous  action.  Furthermore  it  is  a  notably  well-written 
story,  exhibiting  the  author's  rare  sense  of  dramatic  values. 
Praise  must  be  given  to  the  typographical  excellence  of  the  novel 
and  its  mechanical  workmanship  in  general.  —  Philadelphia 
Press. 

Illustrated  in  Color  by  Arthur  I.  Keller 

A.  C.   McCLURG  &   CO.,  Publishers 


THIRTY     THOUSAND     COPIES     PRINTED     OF 

BEN  BLAIR 

The   Story   of   a  Plainsman 

By  WILL  LILLIBRIDGE 

"Ben  Blair"  is  probably  one  of  the  best  novels  we  shall 
get  this  year.  .  .  .  We  prefer  "Ben  Blair"  to  "The 
Virginian"  on  account  of  the  author's  determined  persistence 
in  avoiding  effeminacy.  .  .  .  "Ben  Blair"  is  more  than  a 
frontier  romance  ;  it  is  a  character  novel  worked  out  with  all 
the  singleness  of  purpose  necessary  to  make  an  impressive  story, 
whatever  the  environment.  —  Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle. 

As  truly  picturesque  and  vivid  a  conception  of  breezy  cow 
boy  Western  life  as  has  come  to  hand  in  many  a  day  is  found 
between  the  covers  of  "  Ben  Blair."  .  .  .  There  is  more  real 
force  and  swing  to  the  book  as  a  whole,  than  experience  has 
led  us  to  expect  in  half  a  dozen  modern  stories.  Scotty  and 
Rankin  and  Ben  are  three  gigantic  conceptions  who  leave  an 
indelible  impression  of  stalwart  manhood. — Neew  York  American. 

Mr.  Lillibridge  has  the  knack  of  etching  a  scene  on  the 
memory  with  a  few  clear-cut  lines.  He  also  has  caught  the 
atmosphere  of  the  prairies,  and  conveys  something  of  the  ele 
mental  force  of  character  that  their  wide  horizons  seem  to 
foster. —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

There  is  no  denying  the  strength  and  fascination  of  some  of 
the  descriptive  work.  There  is  a  man-hunt  of  extraordinary 
terror  and  vividness,  and  other  striking  descriptions  of  life  as  it 
exists  on  the  border.  Mr.  Lillibridge  has  a  style,  he  has  some 
thing  to  say,  and  he  is  in  earnest  about  his  work.  —  Chicago 
Daily  Tribune. 

The  story  is  one  of  real  life  and  red  blood,  and  the  reader 
who  is  able  to  lay  it  aside  for  even  an  hour  without  regret, 
before  the  end  is  reached,  fairly  passeth  our  understanding. 
—  Detroit  Times. 

We  are  inclined  to  say  that  "Ben  Blair"  is  superior  to 
"  The  Virginian." —  Baltimore  Sun. 

Frontispiece  in  Color  by  Maynard  Dixon 

A.  C.   McCLURG  &  CO.,   Publishers 


A    YOUNG    LOCHINVAR    OF    THE    WEST 

BEN   BLAIR 

The    Story   of    a    Plainsman 
By  WILL   LILLIBRIDGE 

"  Ben  Blair  "  is  worthy  of  consideration  among  the  best 
productions  of  the  season.  Two-thirds  of  the  novel  treat  of 
life  on  the  Dakota  plains.  Here  the  author  seems  to  be  so 
completely  in  his  element,  that  he  apparently  sketches  his  char 
acters  with  his  eyes  shut,  and  by  merely  throwing  his  brush  at 
the  canvas  produces  a  vivid  picture  of  the  desert  and  its  living, 
breathing  soul. —  New  York  Times  Saturday  Review. 

In  the  wilds  of  Dakota,  Ben  Blair  first  sees  the  light.  Raised 
on  a  cattle  ranch,  and  surrounded  with  the  strength  of  the 
plains  and  the  passions  of  the  men  who  rode  the  bronchos,  he 
becomes  a  Viking  in  force,  in  fortitude,  and  in  the  elements 
which  make  the  leader  and  the  conqueror.  .  .  .  Mr.  Lillibridge 
draws  the  pictures  of  men,  powerful  in  evil  and  potent  for 
good,  in  strong  colors,  that  neither  the  heat  of  hate  nor  the 
rain  of  tears  will  alter  or  change.  —  Seattle  Post-Intelligencer. 

For  cold-blooded  determination  that  certainly  was  brutal 
and  which  was  almost  malignant,  commend  us  to  the  chase 
of  his  benefactor's  murderer  by  Ben.  .  .  .  We  know  of  only 
two  other  things  in  modern  literature  which  equal  it  in  power 
and  impressiveness —  McTeague's  mad  flight,  as  told  by  Frank 
Norris,  and  the  wonderful  description  of  the  chase  of  the  fugi 
tive  Indian  by  the  Hudson  Bay  Company  trappers  in  Stewart 
Edward  White's  "  The  Silent  Places." — Cleveland  Leader. 

The  publishers  certainly  do  not  exaggerate  when  they  say 
the  novel  has  some  tremendously  strong  situations  and  a  splen 
did  Western  atmosphere.  .  .  Jack  London  in  full  fury  cannot 
make  your  heart  beat  faster  than  this  ambitious  new  writer.  — 
New  York  Globe. 

If  you  have  not  read  "Ben  Blair,"  and  fate,  or  the  inexo 
rable  decree  of  a  restricted  purse,  has  ordered  that  but  one 
book  shall  be  bought  this  month,  buy  "Ben  Blair"  and  let  the 
others  go  hang.  For  it  is  wholesome,  virile,  refreshing, 
strengthening.  —  Des  Moines  Register  and  Leader. 

Frontispiece  in  Color  by  Maynard  Dixon 

A.  C.   McCLURG  &   CO.,    Publishers 


SIX    EDITIONS  — MORE    THAN 
23,000   COPIES   IN   A  YEAR 

FOR  THE   SOUL  OF 
RAFAEL 

By    MARAH    ELLIS    RYAN 

When  a  dashing,  pleasure-loving  Spaniard  has  a  marriage 
"arranged"  for  him  with  a  beautiful  saint-like  young  woman 
he  has  never  seen,  it  is  hardly  reasonable  to  expect  any  happi 
ness  from  such  a  union.  A  man  like  Rafael  would  scarcely 
be  in  sympathy  with  the  amount  of  time  his  wife  spent  at  the 
confessional.  His  friends  would  scarcely  be  her  friends.  And 
in  a  case  like  this  there  is  always  some  one  to  catch  the 
wandering  eye  of  the  indifferent  husband. 

It  is  not  possible  in  a  word  to  convey  any  adequate  idea  of 
the  glowing,  picturesque  quality  of  this  romance  of  Old  Cali 
fornia,  in  which  the  characters  are  of  the  fine  aristocratic 
Spanish  type.  There  is  some  tragedy  in  the  book,  of  course, 
but  as  a  story  it  is  wonderfully  moving,  and  of  absorbing 
interest  from  the  very  beginning. 

"•No  one  can  read  the  story,"  remarks  the  Milwaukee 
Sentinel,  "without  a  better  conception  of  the  character  of  the 
Mexicans  who  clustered  about  the  mission  churches  in  Cali 
fornia.  The  contrasts  have  been  handled  by  the  author  with 
telling  strength.  The  characters  are  real  and  living.  The 
pathos  is  like  the  twilight  before  the  moon  comes  up  to  bathe 
all  in  its  beauty.  The  golden  hope  flooded  Raquel's  life  with 
a  beauty  none  knew  but  herself.  She  stood  upon  a  plane  above 
them  all,  drawing  her  sustenance  from  a  hidden  source.  She 
had  found  happiness,  and  through  bitter  sorrow  had  at  last 
reached  the  highest  sphere  of  blessedness,  where  she  awaited 
calmly  the  reward  she  knew  would  be  hers,  at  last,  when  all 
the  mists  had  cleared  away." 

There  rarely  has  been  issued  a  romance  upon  which  so 
much  attention  and  care  have  been  expended  to  make  it  a 
consistent  and  beautiful  book.  From  every  standpoint  — from 
the  symmetrically  printed  page,  ivith  its  symbolic  borders  in 
tint,  and  the  end  leaf  patterns  and  emblematical  chapter 
initials,  to  the  nineteen  full-page  illustrations  in  sepia  from  a 
series  of  remarkable  photographs  (made  expressly  for  it)  —  the 
book  is  presented  in  an  artistic  and  satisfying  make-up. 

A.   C.   McCLURG  &  CO.,  Publishers 


IN    PRAISE    OF 

FOR  THE   SOUL   OF 
RAFAEL 

By    MARAH    ELLIS    RYAN 

The  whole  story  is  told  with  extreme  delicacy,  and  the  love- 
episodes  between  Rafael  and  Keith  are  marked  by  exquisite 
refinement  of  expression.  —  Boston  Herald. 

With  many  illustrations  made  from  photographs  taken  espe 
cially  for  it,  and  with  decorated  pages,  with  a  beautiful  soft 
paper  and  a  striking  cover,  this  book  makes  an  immediate 
impression  upon  the  reader.  —  Buffalo  Express. 

The  story  is  another  proof  of  the  romantic  glamour  of  the 
life  of  the  Missions  and  the  forces  of  Western  history.  Mrs. 
Ryan  has  entered  the  classic  path  with  imaginative  insight.  — 
The  Denver  News-Times. 

One  wonders  at  the  color  which  Mrs.  Ryan  has  put  into  her 
romance.  Mere  words  produce  seldom  so  vivid  an  impression 
of  a  great  painting  in  which  the  figures  move  and  speak  and 
love  and  flirt  and  dance,  and  sometimes  die.  —  The  tffw  York 
World. 

"  Rafael "  is  as  full  of  prismatic  life  and  color  as  one  of  the 
jewels  that  figure  so  dramatically  in  the  drama's  conclusion.  — 
Chicago  Record-Herald. 

With  the  regal  splendor  of  typography  and  art,  "  Rafael'1 
makes  an  instant  appeal  to  the  admiration  of  those  who  love 
the  beautiful.  —  Philadelphia  Record. 

The  style  of  the  tale  is  as  rich  and  glowing  as  the  brilliant 
skies  and  flower-covered  soil. —  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

For  those  who  know  and  love  California,  the  charm  of  the 
book  centres  in  the  graphic  touches  of  local  color.  — Providence 
Journal. 

This  is  one  of  three  books  that,  like  "Ramona,"  repro 
duce  the  beauty  of  the  land  and  the  spirit  of  the  old  missions. 

—  Detroit  Free  Press. 

A  graceful  and  picturesque  romance  of  early  California  days. 

—  Neiv  York  Sun. 

A.  C.    McCLURG  &   CO.,   Publishers 


A  CAPITAL  ROMANCE  of  the  WEST  and 
the  BUILDING  of  the  CENTRAL  PACIFIC 

THE   IRON   WAY 

By  SARAH    PRATT   CARR 

The  "Iron  Way"  is  the  Central  Pacific  Rail 
road.  The  completion  of  this  great  enterprise  in 
1867  provides  the  material  for  a  story  full  of  action 
and  the  power  of  big  events.  The  author  has 
made  skilful  use  of  some  of  the  giant  promoters  of 
that  day  —  Leland  Stanford,  Collis  P.  Huntington, 
Mark  Hopkins,  and  Charles  Crocker,  upon  whose 
initiative  the  railroad  was  planned  and  built.  But 
the  railroad  sets  the  scene  for  a  tale  of  thrilling 
interest.  Alfred  Vincent,  son  of  a  cultured  Eastern 
family,  throws  in  his  lot  with  the  new  road  as  con 
fidential  agent,  standing  guard  over  its  interests 
against  the  wire-cutters,  wreckers,  and  men  of  the 
most  desperate  character.  Stella  Anthony  is  the 
charming  woman  for  whom  two  men  risk  all,  and 
the  bestowal  of  whose  love  upon  one  of  them 
crowns  a  most  fascinating  romance.  The  secondary 
characters  are  admirably  drawn,  particularly  Uncle 
Billy,  who  smothers  love  in  life-long  friendship,  and 
Sally  B.,  a  dominant  and  true-hearted  woman  — 
these  two  establish  themselves  firmly  with  the  reader 
from  the  very  start. 

With  4  Illustrations  and  Cover  Design 
by  J.  W.  Norton 

A.  C.    McCLURG  &  CO.,   Publishers 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 
This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


LOAN 


18  3970 


LD21A-60m-3,'70 
(N5382slO)476-A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


Yd  03468 


